Thunderbird
by Ashynarr
Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue... [AU, drabble collection]
1. Alfred's Tale

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as human faith in them faded. A few of the warier ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references, vaguely OOC characters

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

_There was a time, before humans started to take control of the world around them, where nature ruled all. Men and women and children alike would quiver at the howling wind in the night, pay cautious heed to the world outside their closed in villages and fires. The unknown was to be feared and respected, given sacrifices of blood and food and faith in order to keep their homes and families safe and healthy._

_They believed in spirits, beings borne of the forces that commanded the world around them._

_In that sense, they were right. _

_But faith is a fickle thing. Enlightenment came to humans, and with it the darkness, the unknown, the magic of the world was shoved away, buried, forgotten - and the spirits with them. New forces ruled the world now - electricity, science, nations, innovation, networking - and there was no place for the old ways in the new world order._

_That didn't stop some from finding a way._

~0~0~

For nearly his entire life, Alfred had dreamed of the sky.

For a young Nation, this wasn't new - almost all Nations had had dreams of manned flight in one form of another, and some had even succeeded in limited form. France had bragged for ages about his hot air balloons, carrying men and women up thousands of feet into the sky and returning them safely to the Earth.

Alfred's were a bit different.

For one, he had wings. Grand, beautiful brown and white speckled wings that crackled with wild electricity, each wingbeat a muted drum of thunder. He could soar through the fiercest of storms - could almost _be_ the storms - and fly so high he could see the earth curve away from him, the ocean glimmering with reflected sunlight.

It was gorgeous to behold, and so real that the young Nation would ache with the loss when he woke up in the morning, trapped under sheets in his wide, empty house. Some days, it drove him out and up one of the old trees behind his house, a brief chance to be closer to the open sky above.

(Arthur had caught him outside during a thunderstorm once, eyes closed as his face tilted up towards the clouds. He'd quickly been dragged inside, the older Nation chastising him while drying him off and bundling him as warmly as could be managed, eventually being settled next to the fireplace to ward off the last chance of chilling.

Alfred never mentioned how he'd almost felt at home out there, drenched in cold water and surrounded by the sounds of rumbling thunder.)

Many a time he'd caught himself staring west, drawn to the lands beyond his own. Arthur would refuse all requests to let him explore, even when the colony pleaded.

"I just want to see what's out there! I swear this isn't about expanding!"

"Do you really think I'd fall for that? I've heard your people grumbling about the treaties keeping them to this side of the mountains; one trip is going to become more, each longer than the last, and of course you're going to build shelter and bring friends if you're out there for so long, and before one knows it there's a new town in place, and we're dealing with hostile Indians all over again."

Alfred shook his head. "I wouldn't do that."

Arthur sighed. "Wouldn't you, though? Trust me, Alfred, it's safer if your people just stick to the treaties. You already have plenty of room along the coast - perhaps you could build a few new settlements further south?"

The colony would always give a mumbled reply, ducking his head to mask his frustration. He hadn't been lying about his intentions, but how could he explain the feelings drawing him towards the setting sun? Something out there was calling to him, almost like the sirens the older Nation would whisper about in his stories of life on the sea.

(He wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or not, but in his heart he desperately wanted to believe it was an answer waiting for him out there and not a death trap.)

(Once, he'd thought to ask one of Arthur's faerie friends if they had an idea what it might be. All they'd done was warn him about the lower path and the wrong magics before disappearing again.

They'd never really taken to him, had they? To be fair, he'd always been leery of them as well, no matter how much Arthur trusted them. They were just… off, in a way he couldn't describe.)

Then came the times where he had to put all thoughts of flight and the western expanses in favor of fighting for his survival, for his right to rule himself. It was long, bloody, and miserable, the first time America and Alfred had been in conflict with each other even as they'd run and begged for help and stood their ground against the mightiest empire in the world.

And won.

(And lost his entire family along the way.)

With nothing else to do after establishing his independence twice,

(The second time had hurt more, but not because of the Fire.)

he looked west again, this time with nothing shackling him to his coastline. His people drove him onward (or was it the other way around?), and though his heart ached in muted sympathy at what the price for that western movement was, he simply couldn't stop what was already in motion, allowing himself to be led towards that distant ocean… and towards Mexico.

Whatever was drawing him was somewhere in her heartlands. And Texas was so eager to be free of her influence…

Well, needs must. Quite a few of his people wanted claims on the Pacific anyways; the rest would come around eventually.

(So why did it feel like betrayal?)

~0~0~

September in Mexico's lands felt more like July back east. Alfred could feel sweat dripping down his back, sinking into the fabric of his itchy uniform and leaving him feeling sticky, like he'd just been to visit New Orleans. Considering it was even further south, it wasn't entirely a surprise, but it was still taking time to get used to.

He made his way through the streets, instincts leading him towards Mexico and towards the ever-present feelings that had dragged him west from his birth lands. It was stronger now, almost like a rope tied around his heart, leading him effortlessly towards her house while his men and hers fought a one-sided battle for dominance and territory.

(She hadn't even been able to maintain a steady government presence; she may have won independence like him, but she had never had a Washington or Jefferson to hold things together in the aftermath.

This wasn't a war. It was a slaughter.)

Alfred hesitated briefly before her door - an older building, one he could imagine her growing up in on her own while Spain was at home or with his other territories - before stepping inside, the cool relief from direct sunlight welcome. She already knew he was coming, so she didn't even try to feign surprise when he stepped into her dining room.

"I see you finally decided to show up yourself."

Alfred leaned back against the wall with a shrug. "Well, you kept refusing all my offers to buy up the land, and pretty rudely at that, too."

"Because it is _my_ land, and your people do not deserve to be on it." Mexico hissed, turning her glare on him.

"You sure weren't saying that when we actually bothered to settle and farm the land where you wouldn't. When was the last time you spoke with Texas? How about Alta California?"

Mexico remained silent, lips pressed together thinly while she continued to glower.

Alfred grinned sharply. "You see? It's better for everyone involved if I just take them both off your hands. I might even let you visit occasionally if they want you to."

"You've become no better than the very people we broke away from," She whispered, tone accusatory. "What happened to your talk of freedom and peaceful resolutions?"

"You shot first, if I remember right."

"You keep telling yourself that."

"Do you surrender?"

Silence from her.

"I said, do you surrender, or do I have to conquer the rest of your land first?"

"_Damnit all_, yes, I do." Her face was of one who'd swallowed something bitter, but her eyes still gleamed with the fire of the fight.

"I'm glad we could come to this agreement. I'll make sure you get the money for the land later, but for now, I think you should go talk to your boss about the treaty."

Mexico scowled but complied, holding her head high even in defeat as she strode past him and out the door, her presence making its way towards the government buildings in the distance.

Alfred allowed himself to slump, closing his eyes as he felt for that presence that was now nearly a hum, constantly demanding his attention. Whatever it was was in this house, and this was his one chance to finally answer one of the questions that had always bothered him since he'd realized it wasn't normal to feel drawn to places that weren't one's own.

It took ten minutes to find the staircase down, hidden behind an Indian tapestry depicting the flight of a massive bird passing over the tribes below. It was dark, requiring him to press his hand to the wall to keep his balance even as he descended into the dark.

At the bottom was more darkness and a single gas lamp hanging from a hook on the wall. After some fumbling to light it, he held it up to see what was inside, and forgot how to breathe.

Brown wings with white speckles like stars reached from wall to wall, part of a massive bird posed for the flight he was nearly convinced it would take at any second. He knew those wings - had dreamed of them for over two hundred years -

-how had they shown up here, on the other side of the continent from his Virginia home?

(And why were they real?)

The cloak - for that was what he realized it was - was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, possibly the labor of years by some Indians he would never know. Even the finest art produced by Europe would be hard pressed to make anything close to the simple majesty of it, and it was just hidden away in the dark like some old unwanted clothing.

One thing was certain - this cloak was _his_, and if Mexico complained, it was in his right to demand payment as the winner of their conflict.

He set the lamp down to the side, reverently pulling the cloak from its resting place until it was settled in his arms, the hum dimming back down to almost nothing, though the satisfaction remained.

(Trap or not, this was just too fine a prize to leave in the cellars of some non-power to waste away in darkness.)

~0~0~

He was standing before it again. Twenty years after bringing it home and hanging it up in his dining room (the only place he'd found with enough space to handle the massive wingspan), and he hadn't actually done anything with it besides turn it into a display.

(His states rarely stopped by these days, busy as they were with reparations after the War between them. Russia had stopped by once, before heading home to his icy lands. His bosses rarely felt the need to bother him out here, instead sending messages when he was needed in the capitol.)

Now that the _need _had mostly passed, he'd actually had to stop and think of why such a thing would be so important to him. He was European-born, and nowhere close to endeared with the peoples who'd lived here before him, so why would one of their artifacts demand his attention so much?

He feared the answer. But he simply had to know.

(The dreams hadn't gotten any more or less intense. They had, however, become more varied, with visions of places and people he'd never known but could sometimes name even in his waking hours.)

The cloak was designed to be worn over clothes, or perhaps just for someone a bit taller, a bit older than him. It was also older than himself or Mexico, implying the sort of magics Art- England had always warned him of.

("Age gives things power," The older Nation had told him once. "Always be cautious of things that last far beyond their normal lifespan."

"Like us?" Alfred had asked.

Arthur's lips had pressed together. "Especially like us.")

His fingers reached up, brushing along the feathers on the same arcs he could imagine lightning taking before pulling back, frowning.

If it was some sort of trap for him, why leave it with Mexico? He'd only started seriously expanding in the last few decades, before that fairly content with his coastal claims. If they wanted to hurt him with this, wouldn't they have snuck it into his lands for him to stumble across?

No, Mexico had been scared and angry when he'd found it, not smug, so she was trying to keep it safe from something, or for someone-

Alfred paused, stepped back, and retread that thought.

It'd been hidden in the dark, underground and far from where anyone could marvel at it or even realize its existence. It had never been intended to be found, but he'd known where to find it without issue. Was _he_ what she was trying to keep it from? And if so, why?

(Why had it called to some child of the white people from so far away?)

He had no one to ask; even his dreams shed no light on the issue.

A cloak was meant to be worn, and he couldn't imagine this one was different, magical or not. The question was simply whether it was worth the risk to try it.

(Thunder with each wingbeat, lightning at his beck and call. Ruler of storms, ruler of the skies, ruler of his own freedom. A view of the earth no mortal had ever borne witness to.

A cry that pierced through the loudest storms, unlike any other raptor he'd ever heard.)

(The sky outside was bright blue, warm and inviting in the afternoon sunlight.)

(He'd taken greater risks and pulled through, so what was one more?)

The cloak settled into his arms as easily as always, feathers soft between his fingers as he carried it outside, the clearing behind his house enough space for his needs. He carefully slid his arms through the straps on the wings, the entire cloak settling across his back as if it'd been designed with him in mind.

He pulled his glasses off, tucking them into his shirt, before experimentally moving his arms and thus the wings. They made almost no sound, the only effect the movement had on them at all, nothing like he'd imagined.

It was sort of a letdown after all the worrying he'd done.

The head of the cloak rested on the back of his shoulders. With a bit of shuffling to let the wings fold right, he pulled it up and onto his own head before, with some hesitation, pulling it all the way over his face, blocking his vision entirely.

His eyes shut, and everything changed.

(Arms melted into wings, feet into talons, dull eyes flashing to life before they slid shut. Muscle and tissue and sinew twisted and broke and shifted, all painful but for the complete lack of pain, like it was clay being remolded instead of living flesh.)

The next time the eyes opened, it wasn't entirely America or Alfred behind them anymore.

The Thunderbird had finally been reborn.

~0~0~

_Long ago, a great bird ruled the winds above the Earth. He was known by many names in many tongues - __Kw-Uhnx-Wa, Wakija, binesi - and was revered by all the People wherever he went. There were many such beings of wind and lightning that soared through the skies and lived among the People, but this one was king of them all, immortal and unimaginably strong._

_His wingspan was that of four men lying end to end, with the power to create thunder and lightning with each beat. He could even draw forth the clouds that brought rain, watering the crops and quenching the thirst of the game and the People so that they could farm and hunt. He was believed to be the messenger of the Great Spirit, delivering word of good and bad deeds to him and delivering back the rewards or punishments decreed._

_It was even said that he, like his mortal kin, could remove his feathers and walk among the People as a man. His presence was still obvious to those who knew how to look; his eyes held the wisdom of a hundred elders, his arms the strength of a hundred bears, his wrath a hundred of the fiercest storms._

_No one believed he could be killed._

_Then the Moon Children came in their strange canoes, bringing death and destruction with them._

_None were certain what happened to him, only that one day he flew far south to defend the tribes under attack from the foreigners. He never returned to the skies, even after the passing of many moons. The People mourned, praying his spirit delivered to the Great Spirit to serve as faithfully in death as he had in life._

_A small number believed he had not passed on, but simply let himself be reborn, waiting for his chance to return. Several of that number came to that belief when they spied a white child, young and energetic, with the strength to swing a bison, a knowledge beyond his age, and a deep love for the open skies..._

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: Right, so this is the OFFICIAL VERSION -tm- of the Thunderbird AU I've been drabbling about on and off for a while. As you can see, there are a ton more details than before, and a nicer flow and explanation and feel for everything. I've also decided on a final set of characters that'll be focused on for this AU:

America, China, Poland, Finland, Cameroon, Kenya, Uganda. Yes, I'm using three minor African characters, because damnit they have interesting lore too and no one ever touches them and I feel they deserve better.

Sooooooooo yeah, anyways, all the other short drabbles I've written will eventually be remastered and tossed up here, but feel free to ask about other characters or for certain events or whatever, and I'll do my best to indulge. At the least, I will have the tales of all the main characters I listed and how they escaped, along with some modern day things and some other mythological spirits perhaps.

(And if you need to ask, yes, ALL the Nations are technically Spirits (just of their people and not other forces), but ONLY the ones I mentioned managed to work their way around the mass deaths of the Old Ways in order to take places in the new world forming around them. It's... a bit tricky to explain, but I hope I can manage it in future chapters.)


	2. Feliks' Tale

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as human faith in them faded. A few of the warier ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references, vaguely OOC characters

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

_The few spirits who survived the deaths of their kin were not the oldest, or the cleverest, or even the strongest. They were, however, far more interested in human affairs than most, giving them the most time to realize their world was changing, drifting away from them and their ilk. _

_Warnings were useless - for what power did man have over the spirits they were not granted first? The idea of humans turning away from them seemed ridiculous, for that was how life had always been, and change was not easy for most of them. That did not keep the aware from making plans anyway, watching for the right moments to slip into their new skins._

_One by one, they took their places, and one by one their kin died, going out with whimpers as the world swept ever onwards. _

_Once, there had been a thousand different kinds of spirits and mystical beings the world over._

_Now, there were only a scant handful._

_(In the end, that was enough.)_

~0~0~

Feliks always came back to life at dawn.

As a Nation, immortality was something that simply came with the duty, much like his awareness of his people and his slow aging. Every Nation suffered through death a few times throughout their lives, whether from other Nations, unaware humans, or simple bad luck.

(Drowning was not Felik's favorite way to go, but at least it was easier on his regeneration than burning.)

Honestly, the fact that he always happened to wake up from his latest death right when the sun was rising was negligible in the face of all that; a quirk of his life, much like his dreams of soft, bonfire-lit feathers and crooned melodies in the night.

His early childhood was simple; he wandered the land by day, occasionally coming across a settlement he could spend a few days in before moving on. The people living there would always be wary of an apparently young boy wandering on his own, but his smile always tended to reassure them, and soon he'd have a bed to rest in and enough food to keep him going until he reached the next town.

(He didn't realize until later this wasn't quite normal for a Nation, but then again, he was never really normal, was he?)

At night Feliks would dream of flying amongst the moon washed trees, warmed even on the coldest of nights by his glowing plumage. Sometimes he'd see people in these dreams too - peasants, knights, lords - but in the morning they'd all blur together into indistinction, only a sense of aged amusement echoing in the back of his mind.

He always left at dawn, his parting gift to the family who'd hosted him left out on their table or bed. Sometimes it was some pretty feathers, other times freshly picked herbs and fruits from the nearby woods, and other times yet some small trinket he'd found during his wanderings.

It was several hundred years and several human years worth of growth before that changed, his wanderings taking him to the flatlands settlements that had grown into large towns since the last time he'd passed through. One of the towns he passed by turned out to be under attack, the lord leading the campaign frowning down at the child that had ended up caught wandering past his encampment.

"Who are you?" The man asked.

"Poland," Feliks replied simply.

"I see," He replied after a long moment's thought, a new gleam in his eyes as he looked the old child over. "How do you feel about Christianity?"

"What's that?" The young Nation asked, tilting his head.

(Feliks was baptised a few weeks later, and most of his scattered peoples brought together under the duke's kingdom a few years later.

It felt sort of like willingly stepping into a gilded cage.)

Even as he rose to prominence, his mind warned him trouble was on the horizon. His meetings with the Holy Roman Empire, who looked no older than him but weilded an authority the newly unified Nation lacked, only reinforced those feelings; his lord might have offered him up to the Church as an offering of goodwill, but Feliks would not submit nearly as easily.

His kingdom grew, collapsed, and grew again as his kings did their utmost to stretch their reach out as far as possible, only to lose ground all at once due to spreading their forces too thin. Though he sometimes was sent out on the campaigns, more often than not he was kept in the palace due to his still young appearance, for all intents and purposes a favored pet.

Sometimes he sang when he was alone, his soft voice carrying tunes he barely recalled throughout his small room. Other times he sat by the window, watching the moon and stars move across the sky and wishing he was out there again, wandering the lands with only the goodwill of his people and the occasional lucky find to keep him going.

(Occasionally, he wished he had brilliant wings that could carry him away, the dawn's promise of hope lifting him far above the troubles of the Earth.)

When his king chose to divide the land between his sons instead of giving it all to the eldest, Feliks knew it was doomed to fail even before the man's dying breaths were punctuated with an immediate war between the four, all of whom wanted to claim all the land and glory for themselves.

The only upside to the new conflict that left tiny cuts across his body was that he was free to roam again, drifting between his cities and villages as a young man instead of a child. Decades of salvaged trinkets and jewelry found its way into the hands of those who would let him stay, their surprised pleasure always leaving a smile on his face as he left for his next destination.

The constant warfare took its toll on him, though, even as he made to avoid anywhere conflict seemed to be brewing. The invasions from the East that were slowly but readily killing his people didn't help the matter much, though the loss was made up for by the Germans moving in from elsewhere to fill in the empty places in the growing feudal system around him.

(Was is sad that he missed the days of his youth, where all he had to worry about was where his feet took him next?

At least, it hadn't been this numbingly aching.)

One town he stopped in was different, but only for the young woman he met there. The daughter of a local blacksmith, she would have likely already married if not for the deathly sickness that kept her to her bed, pale and hollowed but still capable of smiling through her pain.

"Are you an angel?" She'd asked when they'd met, eyes half glazed with a new fever.

"No, just a wanderer." Feliks had replied, sympathetic to her pain but unable to do more than pray for her at the small church at the other end of town.

"But you have such pretty wings…" She mumbled, eyes drifting shut again while her father apologized for the delusions.

The Nation felt a bit differently, but he couldn't speak to her again until nearly a sevenday later, after her fever had broken and her energy had returned.

"Are you sure you should be out of bed?" He'd asked on seeing her by the window in a chair, humming to herself as she worked with surprisingly sturdy hands and fingers on a quilt.

"The sun comforts me," She replied, not letting her gaze stray from the needle. "And I do not have long before the Lord takes me, so I've been granted some small freedoms."

Feliks did not ask if she'd tried praying for the sickness to leave her for good; they both knew such actions had already been taken, all to no apparent effect.

She paused in her needlework long enough to turn to him, still smiling. "By the way, I have something for you. I won't have much use for it soon, and my father won't have anyone to pass it to once I'm gone."

Before he could open his mouth to protest, she turned back to her bed, pulling out from between the sheet a brilliant red and orange feather, its colors almost glowing and flickering from within. A deep ache rose within his chest, and wordlessly he accepted the gift, running careful fingers through the plumage while marvelling at its warmth.

"You may not have wings to everyone else," She'd whispered, clasping her hands together in her lap. "But I can still see them when the light's just right."

Feliks didn't reply for a long while, voice caught in his throat. Her eyes were sincere as they watched him, and eventually he couldn't help but smile back, even as sorrowful as it was. "Thank you," He whispered. "I'll keep it safe."

She smiled but said nothing, turning back to her quilt and returning to her task quietly. Feliks stayed beside her, gripping her hand as it slowly came to a halt and brushing her hair back as she took a last, hacking breath before falling deathly still.

Ever so gently, he laid her to rest in her bed, the finest of the jewelry he had left resting on her chest and her unfinished quilt draped over her.

(It was the first and last time he'd ever left at dusk instead of dawn, but he didn't think he could linger any longer there. Though her name would eventually slip from his memory, her face and smile would linger even in his darkest days.

The fiery feather rested against his chest, a warm comfort as the town fell further and further behind him.)

Later still, long enough after her death for the worst of the ache to fade, Feliks met Gilbert for the first time. He knew a few of his lords had had dealings with the Teutonic Knights in order to deal with pagans to the East, so he thought nothing of greeting the other Nation and asking about what brought him through.

That greeting ended with the pale Nation's sword through his chest, Felik's life blood draining out across the road even as the other turned and left, not even staying to watch the Polish Nation die.

Perhaps that was for the best, as the feather on his chest had started to glow brightly, lighting the trees around him. Its glow sank into his cooling body, causing his skin to glow softly and his hair to ripple with flames as it spread out to the ends of his limbs. The light show ended only a few moments later, the glow fading back to nothing and returning the woods to its normal evening darkness.

(In the morning, Feliks would wake to a pile of dust in his shirt and a hundred lifetimes of memories in his mind.

If his hair sometimes glinted orange in the morning light after that, no one ever commented on it. And really, that was for the best.)

~0~0~

_The Slavic firebird, for all his similarities to the Asian phoenix, was a far different being from his distant relatives. _

_His feathers glowed like a bonfire, lighting the night around him like a miniature sun at his most brilliant. Even after the firebird had shed them, they retained their glow, providing light and warmth and comfort to those who found them honestly. To those who took from others, they quickly burned through skin and teeth and hair before fading and crumbling away._

_He had been captured many times over his long life by peasants and nobility alike. Sometimes he was caught unwary, while others he allowed himself to be trapped in a cage and presented to whichever lord demanded his presence. Every time he would watch the court fall apart at his mere presence, the lord's greed becoming his own downfall even as the firebird watched patiently from his gilded cage._

_When he was free to roam the night skies, the firebird would often go to those in need, giving them pearly tears and soft songs to help them through their struggles for a bit longer. He'd even made lords weep those few times he'd sung for them, right before they opened his cage and sent him away, but it was rare for nobles to get a sound out of him._

_The firebird's rebirth came not in fire, but at the dawn's first light, his body rising from its resting place as of one from deep slumber, no matter how terrible the wounds he had suffered. Once, a terrible sorcerer took advantage of this fact by letting him rise every morn only to suffer a new death at his hands; he desired the bird's immortality, but the firebird's will never faltered, even at the sorcerer's cruelest. _

_It is said that one day, right before the firebird was to rise again, the sorcerer came to check on it, only to find the body crumbled to ashes in its cage. The lock had not been broken, nor had the bars been pried apart, but the sorcerer knew without a doubt that the firebird had escaped his grasp at last._

_His scream echoed across the icy lands, vowing that he would find the firebird again, no matter how far he had to search or how long it took._

_Far to the south and west, a small boy opened his eyes for the first time, soft blond hair glinting with streaks of fire as he turned to watch the sun rise._

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: Wow, I can't believe I finally got around to this second part finally! And yeah, this is gonna be a trend for how I introduce all of the characters, since I feel it really sets the whole tone best. Hopefully I'll get to the others in a more timely manner, cause then I can actually get around to the other stories like them interacting with each other and the world and their modern day and historical shenanigans and whatnot.

Feliks is a character I have literally never written before, and his history was something I'd only glanced at long enough to determine he was who I wanted to use for the firebird mythos. Put together, it made this chapter a bit trickier to write than I imagined, but I like how it all turned out in the end! (I did sorta take a few liberties with the mythos, so forgive me for that, but I really prefer how this came out.)

If it wasn't clear, this is all set well before the whole Commonweath thing, because even I can tell how much that time period literally just dominates every damned Poland fic ever out there. Fandom, srsly, Feliks has a lot more history than his time with Toris and Ivan, and a lot more interests than valley girl talk and crossdressing. Srsly.


	3. Tino's Tale

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references, vaguely OOC characters

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

_As in most things, their second lease at life came with a high price - their memories. They would live on in the new world, but they would never know what they were before, for all concerns a normal being except for the odd flash of dream-memory._

_Even in this, some found a way. They left behind pieces of themselves, fragments of their essence that, when returned to them at last, would infuse them with their own memories so that they could continue to watch over the humans that had left them behind._

_There was a price for this, as well, even if they did not consider it at the time- _

_-they would always have to remember just what had been lost to them, and what little of their world remained._

_The overwhelming loneliness that came with awareness did not sit well._

~0~0~

Tino finds comfort in the ocean.

He recalls, vaguely, his first moments of washing up on the shore, though they feel more like his dreams than an actual memory. He'd woken up to the cry of a seabird in his ear, the creature startling him just as he startled it as he jolted awake, his dream of an endless ocean dissipating like a spent stormcloud.

He'd watched the startled bird fly away before noticing the chill, water soaking through his thin clothing and making the air around him cool enough to send shivers through his tiny body. Pushing himself to his feet, he set off down the beach, looking for something he only realized later was shelter once he stumbled across it.

The family he'd run into first had taken him in, drying him and giving him clothes that their own son had outgrown several years before. When asked where he'd come from, he couldn't answer with anything other than a shake of his head and an apologetic smile. They eventually dropped it, and he settled into a life of eternal childhood while his adoptive family grew old around him.

(He'd been the one to bury all of them - first the mother, then the father, then the brother and his wife. Tino had moved on after that, leaving the small village as the same child he'd come to them as.

It didn't strike him until later than most children couldn't lift an adult as easily as a feather.)

After a while he realized he was in fact aging, though far more slowly than the people around him. He'd noticed it when his clothes, which had once been big on him and only just started fitting when he'd left, started feeling tight on him, forcing him to trade what little goods he'd gathered along with all his older clothing in order to get new ones.

It was annoying to not be taken seriously by the adults around him; he was older than most of them, yet they still saw nothing but a boy trying too hard to be an adult. Luckily he never needed to speak to them for long, allowing him to go on his way once he had what he needed.

(He knew he could always just scare them with his strength, but he felt that unnecessarily cruel, not to mention they'd be more likely to drive him out than help him.)

(Sometimes he wished he was as old as he was in his dreams. No one was rude to him in them, and he could get all the food and clothing and goods he could ask for! Not to mention everyone took his word as seriously as he wanted them to.)

He stuck to the coast for a long time, never getting too far from the salty breezes and rhythmic pounding of water on rocks than never failed to lull him to sleep in the evenings. Sometimes he stayed in one village for a few years, watching the people around him change, a rock in the river of time. Other times he only stayed a few days, long enough to last out a storm before moving on.

He knew there were people beside his, out there past the ocean, but he didn't meet them until he was nearly four hundred summers old. They were young like him, but older in appearance, though they certainly acted more like the age they appeared as rather than the age they were. Mathias and Berwald would almost constantly bicker when they came by the village he was staying in at the time, though they made up almost as quickly as they fought.

(Really, even though they had hundreds of summers over him, he still felt like the oldest of the three; it made just as much sense as everything else about his life, so he didn't let it bother him too much.)

In a way, they became his first friends, sharing the same lonely immortality as he and so never leaving him for more than a few years at a time. He tried to stay in one place for longer periods of time so they could find him easier, but when they started getting new, almost hungry gleams in their eyes, he felt it best to disappear inland for a while, away from the comfort of the ocean and the dangers it brought with it.

The world away from the ocean was vastly different from the world he'd stuck to before. The people in this place got their food from the ground rather than the sea, and did not have quite as much interaction with the visiting foreigners as their coastal kin, though some of the trinkets and goods of the trades had still found their way here.

Tino once again took to lingering in whatever villages would keep him for a few years, doing what small tasks he could to help and learning quite a lot about planting and tending and harvesting in the process. He'd even discovered that sewing and crafting were activities that was enjoyable when otherwise bored during the snowy winter evenings.

(He had had many a dream of playing a beautiful kantele, crafted from bone and snow white hair. The songs were achingly familiar, like he could reach out and play them himself if just given the chance to run his own fingers over the instrument.

None of the harps he'd tried in his waking hours ever came close to the melodies he played in his dreams, and eventually he gave it up altogether.)

(Once, he dreamt not of water, but of fire - a world engulfed in flames and molten rock, the air thick with ashes and smoke. Though the fires never harmed him, he remembered in the morning the stories Mathias had told him of the end of the world and shuddered.

It hadn't felt like an end to his dream-self, though - more like a beginning.)

A few dozen summers passed before he realized he was being drawn north, further and further from most of the people and further into the cold and barren lands of eternal winter. He was leaving the world of humans behind and, for the first time, walking into the realm of the spirits.

He'd never met a spirit himself, but Mathias and Berwald both swore they knew a boy who could see them. As childish as they were, he could not doubt that _something_ had to live out here, lest the place feel even more lonely and desolate than it already did. Sometimes he thought he heard voices whispering to them as they passed by, heading in the same direction as he.

(When he slept he would see their faces, pale and gaunt and empty, and knew they were the dead, heading to the end of the world to rest past the River.

He shivered, even knowing the dead couldn't actually harm him as an immortal being.)

The skies grew darker as winter approached, the sun dipping lower and lower in the sky each day before, finally, it gave up, leaving the world around him in endless night and sending what little warmth remained fleeing for more pleasant places. Tino simply pulled his cloak around himself a bit tighter and kept going, knowing that even if he turned around now he would have at least two weeks of walking to get back to the closest village.

For all they made him nervous, the ghosts actually provided pleasant company, telling him bits and pieces about themselves and their lives before they'd died.

This woman had been a mother of five, four sons and a daughter who had all gone out to sea and never returned, leaving just her and her husband's grave until she'd fallen asleep and woken up outside her own body. That man had been caught in a coastal raid, dying fighting off the foreigners who had thought the village an easy target, puffing his chest out in what lingering pride he had at knowing he'd succeeded in the end.

On the third week away from civilization, an eagle flew down to examine him, tilting its head this way and that as he watched it back, wondering what brought the creature so far north. Eventually it came to some sort of decision, crying out before taking off, swooping over his head and causing him to duck before it flew off, disappearing into the darkness.

(He'd had an eagle once, in his dreams - she'd been beautiful and strong, hatching many young eaglets who had gone on to continue her legacy. Strangely, her last egg had appeared almost as gold as her feathers, and had never hatched.)

After a while he realized other creatures lived out here in the far reaches of the world - white bears whose den sheltered them and their young as they slept, white owls who silently stalked prey foolish enough to leave their caverns for what little vegetation was buried under the ice and snow.

Sometimes he dug into a burrow to grab a hare to eat, but mostly he was alright with the pangs of hunger that did little more than sour his mood.

(On the fortieth 'night', he dreamt the world was engulfed in ice, with even the oceans frozen over. He'd never realized the world was so big before, yet the winter he felt trapped in had engulfed it so easily.

Hadn't Mathias said that was how the world would end? In the world being frozen over, but for a single forest? It seemed a bit more likely than a world of endless flame, at least.)

After what the ghosts whispered were fifty days since he'd last seen another living human, he stumbled across the ruins of what had once been a bustling village. The buildings were nothing but crumbling walls and snow piles now, though the ghosts did not seem to mind, only passing by on their way to the barren ice beyond.

He wandered slowly, keeping to the paths he could make out and feeling a great loss at each ruined building he looked into. Some had weathered the years better than others, but all of them had lost their roofs and floors, and many of them almost all of their walls as well.

Eventually he came to a stop before one ruined building that seemed in only marginally better condition than the others, though that could have been the smaller amount of snow that had piled inside it skewing his perception of things. He stepped through where the door might have been, coming to a stop before a broken table half buried in the snow.

Using his strength, he tugged both pieces out of the way, setting them gently to the side before turning back to what they'd been hiding underneath, his breath caught in his throat.

It was the kantele of his dreams, shining as beautifully as if it were crafted yesterday instead of however long ago it'd first taken form. Almost reverently, he extracted it from the small amount of snow that had crept in around it, resting it in his lap as he sat down on one of the broken halves of the table, pulling off his gloves and setting them to the side. He ran his fingers over the chords, which still sang sweetly in the cold night, and a smile tugged at his cold lips.

On some forgotten instinct, he started playing, a slow, haunting melody erupting from his fingers as he played for his audience of the dead and lost. His eyes shut, allowing the song to flow through him, awakening parts of himself he hadn't even realized were asleep until now, only coming to an understanding of what he'd played as he came to the end of the piece.

Tino Väinämöinen, one of the oldest beings to ever walk the Earth, opened his eyes with a sad smile, leaning over his old kantele and lamenting the loss of all the beings he'd once called friends.

~0~0~

_Unlike most spirits, __Väinämöinen not born on the Earth - he was born with it. _

_It is said that in the beginning, there was nothing but he, the ocean, and a weary eagle who only wanted a place to raise her child. She laid her golden egg on his knee, warming it until it burned enough for him to kick it and the eagle away, incidentally causing it to crack in half, revealing all the primal pieces of the universe inside._

_The bottom half became the land, while the upper became the heavens. The yolks were thrown up to be the sun and the moon, the whites the daytime sky, and the remaining bits were thrown up to become stars. Once he was done, he swam to the shore, looked around, and saw that the land had already become home to many birds and beasts, while the rivers and sea had started to fill with fish._

_He wandered the land, eventually coming across a small band of humans who, though they did not trust him, allowed him to stay the night in exchange for a song. And what a song it was - his voice mesmerized all those around the fire, and the strumming of his fingers across the strings of the magical kantele he'd crafted from the jaw of a great pike and the hair of a beautiful spirit-woman seemed to weave the stories he told to life around them._

_His reputation spread across the land, and any who came across the old spirit and his harp would eagerly welcome him to their homes, offering food and shelter for just an evening with his magical stories. Sometimes he accepted, and many times he did not, but he never remained for longer than a night._

_One day, a young man by the name of Joukahainen thought to challenge __Väinämöinen__, for surely he could not be as great as everyone claimed, and all those in his village had marvelled at his own impressive singing. The old man warned him he would not go easy on the boy, but in his youth and arrogance he dismissed the warnings._

_They dueled, not in weapons but in voice and song and tale, weaving their own magics through their songs. Though Joukahainen was good, he was not a god, and soon found himself sinking into a bog the old man had conjured. Fearing for his life, he promised his sister's hand in marriage if he was saved._

_Väinämöinen accepted, and the bog was sung away. The old man allowed the boy to run ahead on his horse, to let his sister and parents know of his humiliation and the price he'd paid for his life. Though his parents accepted the deal, his sister begged and pleaded to be spared from the marriage, crying when her parents refused._

_The next day marked the arrival of the god, who asked for the sister to be brought forward to wed him. She was nowhere to be found, though, for in the night she had stole away and flung herself off a cliff and into the ocean rather than face marrying an old man she'd been lost to by her foolish brother._

_Joukahainen was the one to find her body washed up on the shore, rushing back to the house to let his parents and __Väinämöinen know of her fate. When the god went to investigate, the boy snuck into his room, grabbed his bow, and rushed after him, reaching the shore shortly after the god. When the old man looked down the cliff to look for her body, __Joukahainen took his bow and shot him, sending him over the cliff into the ocean._

_Some say __Väinämöinen_ _died there, next to the body of his bride-to-be, while others say he swam North, to the village by the river between the mortal world and the land of the dead, where the heavens met the earth. His magic kantele was never found, perhaps lost to the ocean it'd come from forever._

_None, however, associated him with the small boy who washed up on the shore hundreds of miles away, almost cradled by the waves as he was laid on the beach._

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: Holy shit, this took a while to get into the swing of, but I'm really really happy with how it turned out! Finland doesn't have much in the way of literature from before the Viking Era, so I sorta didn't have much historical stuff to use in this chapter. Ironically, most of the Finnish lore has nothing to do with Nordic mythology, AND it was rewritten by this one guy in the 1500s who wanted to collect them all together and in the process make them like the other mythologies in the world, hence making it impossible for me to find GENUINE Old Finnish mythology.

Fun fact, Tino's last name in Hetalia was what had me consider there being other spirit-Nations in my AU, because I'd looked up his last name on a complete whim and realized that this Finnish bard dude was actually really sorta cool? And I also wanted to have more Tino-Alfred bonding in fics because there just isn't enough and it makes me sad as heck.

The next two chapters will be Yao then the African trio, then from there I'll be rewriting my old drabbles for this AU and then... well, then we'll see.


	4. Yao's Tale

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references, vaguely OOC characters

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

_Eventually they came to find one another, gathering to reminisce over what had been lost and to ponder and marvel at what had been gained. They were companions of circumstance, allies in a world that would remove them if they showed their true faces to any outside of their small number._

_Through war and strife and ache they would remain close, refusing to give up what little they had left on the short-lived whims of the humans who had forced them into this in the first place. They did not blame them, though, for how could humans have known what power they had had when even the spirits hadn't until it was too late?_

_And so together they watched the world change, the humans growing ever faster in their desire to understand and control the universe around them. _

~0~0~

For a thousand years, Yao had dutifully served both the throne and his people.

When he had been born on the shores of a small village on the Huang He - named after the legendary emperor who had brought together the people under one throne and taught them the secrets of writing - he had already been somewhat aware of his nature as a Spirit of the people of his lands, and accepted it as normal - after all, for him, it was. Sometimes, though, he thought he was almost aware of something else, the thinnest threads of thought trailing from the ends of idle musings and the first waking moments of morning.

The thoughts generally left as soon as they appeared, only resurfacing in the depths of his dreams, and as they never led anywhere, Yao was content to leave them be.

When he was not serving as the right hand of the Emperor, he wandered the world, speaking to his people and learning what he could not through his abilities as a Spirit. Feeling their happiness or sorrow distantly was not the same as seeing them laugh together or sob together, as he'd learned early on in his life, and he refused to let himself become disconnected from them due to the isolation of the court and nobility from the peasants.

Sometimes in his travels he would come across friendly spirits as well, which he would share food with in exchange for knowledge of the roads ahead or the weather to come. If the spirits were more mischievous or cruel, he would shoo them away or banish them with the seals and chants he'd picked up over the many lifetimes he'd lived.

The trips would always inevitably end, drawing him back to the throne, the emperor, and the life of wealth and prestiege that simultaneously comforted him and made him want to walk away again. Even as the dynasty was torn down and replaced, he maintained the routine, accepting the new line of leaders as well as he had the old.

As he grew older, aging from a child to a young man, he noticed that the number of spirits he would meet or at least notice in passing was slowly dropping, many of their old resting places abandoned. Each time he would offer a prayer, hoping that wherever they had gone, they were satisfied, and tried to banish the doubts that told him he had just dreamt them up to keep him company.

(They'd given him gifts - he'd seen them eat and laugh and scream and felt their hot or cold or intangible forms for himself! Even he could not believe his imagination to be so vivid.)

Curious as to what could bring about those changes, he sought out one of the oldest spirits he knew, a great dragon whose den resided under the waterfalls feeding one of the rivers that eventually fed itself into the mighty Huang He. The spirit rose from his slumber at the younger Spirit's presence, gazing down upon him with all the wisdom of its ages.

"Gone, you claim?" The dragon's voice had rumbled, low and even and echoing through the cavern like the water crashing on the rocks of the nearby falls. "And no others came to take their place?"

"No, oh wise one," Yao had knelt, his head respectfully lowered and eyes locked to the floor. "I knew many of them well; they would not leave unless they had to."

The great dragon hummed, otherwise quiet for several minutes as he pondered. "Look up at me, young Spirit."

Yao complied, his gaze meeting the dragon's own as he awaited his next words.

"I see honesty in your eyes," The dragon mused, raising a claw and running it along one of his whiskers. "It has been too long, I fear, since I've left my den for more than food or safety. I am not sure what causes this change you speak of, but I know of those who might. I fear the journey shall be long for me, since I must reacquaint myself with the world first. Return in ten years' time, and I shall have your answer for you."

The spirit of the peoples of the land bowed again and left, only glancing up when he saw the great serpentine form of the dragon swim by overhead that evening, heading towards the setting sun and disappearing with it. He returned to the capitol, focusing on the new emperor in order to pass the years until he could go back.

Two months after the ten year mark had passed, the two reunited near the cavern, the dragon's red scales shining in the afternoon sun. Though the storms passing through had delayed him, Yao still felt the burn of curiosity as he sat beside the older Spirit, wondering what he had learned on his long journey.

"I requested an audience with the Jade Emperor," The dragon offered, coiled around himself. "When it was granted, I brought your case before him. He was troubled by the news as well, though he does not plan to interfere in the mortal world as of yet."

Yao nodded, bringing his legs in and holding them against his chest. The Jade Emperor's word was law, and if he was not to interfere, then that was the end of the matter, even if Yao felt at least something could have been done.

The dragon looked over to him, head tilted in thought as he watched the young Spirit mope. "Erlang Shen asked me to pass on a message, though its meaning eludes me."

"Erlang?" Yao lifted his head, turning to the dragon with puzzlement.

"He said that if you wish to find the answers you seek for yourself, find the place where you were once born and laid to rest."

"Laid to rest?" The Spirit's brows furrowed.

"He gave no further instructions," The dragon replied. "But I would not dismiss his words in any case. I am… wearied from my travels, and wish to rest. Good luck on your own journey, young one."

With that the dragon stood, slowly walking back to the river and through the falls, vanishing behind the waters and leaving Yao to his own thoughts.

(That night, he dreamed of a mountain torn open, moonlight pouring inside to illuminate the depths. A single egg rested in the middle of the patch of light, gleaming gold in contrast to the silver around it.

He felt like he was pulled away then, led along the trickles of water that descended down one side of the mountain until they gathered into larger and larger streams, finally pouring into the river he now slept beside.)

In the morning he forgot all but the feeling that he should follow the river to its source. With no pressing need to return to the throne, he indulged himself, setting out on what would be a long month of detours, scrambling up rocks and cliffs, and several encounters with human-leery spirits who weren't fond of him by association.

Finally Yao reached the top, looking down into the canyon beyond and seeing ledges and former caverns lit up by the evening sun. Civilization was far behind him now, but he hardly minded at this point, not when whatever vague urge was drawing him onwards was within his reach.

By the time he was able to pick his way down to safety, the sun had set, the moon taking its place in lighting the world around him. Although its light was not completely full, he found himself able to make his way along the safe paths, ducking under or around fallen rocks and half-collapsed tunnels before emerging into another small room opened to the night sky.

In the very center sat a gleaming sphere, surrounded by eight spiraling arms of eight golden scales radiating away from it like a stylized sun. The symbol was not lost on him; a dragon's gem had been deliberately left here, perhaps by the dragon itself, waiting for someone to have the fortune to come across it.

The dragon's words, echoed back to him by his own mind, gave him reverent pause as he realized it had likely been for _him_.

Was this Erlong Shen's plan, then? To let Yao divine his own answer through the dragon's gem? It was a clever way to allow the higher being to interfere in the mortal world without raising a finger, especially since he had the vision to see that Yao would likely succeed in arriving here in the first place.

He crossed the room, careful to not disturb any of the scales as he stepped into the middle, cradling the gem in his hands as he settled into a meditative pose. Gazing into its depths, he could just make out what appeared to be gold, before…

(It was days before he stirred again, his body aching both from lack of sleep and from the memories of transformation that almost seemed to brim under his skin, just within reach of the Yellow Dragon again.)

~0~0~

_The Yellow Emperor, oldest of the Five Emperors and the originator of the central state that would one day become China, was said to have ascended to the heavens as a mighty golden dragon after his years of reign over the people of the land. In death, they said, he had been chosen by the sovereign spirits to become a guardian of the land so as to watch over his people forever._

_The truth of the matter was that the Yellow Emperor had always been a dragon, and had simply resumed his normal form after passing the throne to his worthiest descendant._

_Born in the heart of an old mountain, the Yellow Dragon hatched when the earth shook so terribly it cracked the mountain in two, revealing his nest to the outside world and allowing bright sunlight to warm the egg that until then had slumbered in the residual heat from below. Even as a hatchling he learned quickly, observing the world around him in the way only beings of true thought do. _

_His favorite subject of study were the humans, whose short and dangerous lives filled him with a deep sorrow, as well as a desire to help them in any way he could. He started walking amongst them, taking human shape in order to better understand their ways, and learned many things from them - compassion and fear, joy and terror, anger and love, wisdom and foolishness. _

_In his travels he came across four young spirits, whose lives he took into his own claws, raising them on the wisdom he'd learned himself - the white-furred tiger who had been lost in the western mountains; the black-shelled tortoise whose long tail flowed and writhed like the northern streams he'd sheltered in; the azure-scaled dragon whose egg had been nestled in the ancient groves of the south; and the vermillion-feathered phoenix who had lit the eastern shores with her birth._

_They grew and fought and loved each other, as human siblings do, with the Yellow Dragon at the center of it all, a mountain of stability to the four younglings. Sometimes they would come with him on his journeys to learn about the humans they lived by, though they were for the most part content to remain separate to the mortals, their small family more than enough for them._

_When the Yellow Dragon returned one day, the secrets of writing under his arm and a gleam in his eyes at the knowledge of how to bring the humans together in harmony at last, the four chafed, fearing he would leave them forever. They protested the need to look after the short-lived humans, or to unify the distant reaches of the land and teach them the secrets of the world. Through all the protests he remained firm, and one by one they gave way, allowing him to go and scattering to the winds as their center left._

_Though the Yellow Dragon missed them, he stood strong, reaching out to the distant edges of the kingdom and offering them knowledge beyond their limited worlds. A hundred years he spent teaching them the way to carve the symbols of language he'd learned, of engraining the ways of the court and the field into those who most needed his wisdom. His wives, all beautiful and short lived, provided heirs to maintain the balance, as well as offering their own wisdoms to him and the people._

_Once he was sure the work he'd done would last, he left, returning to his home only to find the four he'd raised long gone. With nowhere else to go, he ascended to the Heavenly Throne, where the Jade Emperor and his family greeted him warmly for providing for their people so well._

_The son, Erlang Shen, spoke to him one night, warning him of the future he'd seen, where the spirits who resided on the Earth would wither away and die. The Yellow Dragon, fearing not for himself but for his scattered family, begged for a way to save their lives, even at the cost of his own._

_Erlang told him that there was a way to reincarnate them, allowing them to live as new beings who could survive the change. He could take the offer as well, but only if he would accept the burden of their reincarnations as well as his own. The Yellow Dragon did not hesitate in accepting, feeling any price was worth saving them, even as he felt himself lost to the wheel._

_Years later, a small boy with wide, wise eyes would watch as the first dynasty of China was founded on the shores of the Yellow River, and know a pride he could not quite place but accepted none the less._

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: Watch as I slowly drift further and further from using history and more towards just going with whatever works. Ahahahah also watch as the mythos backstory increases and overtakes the rest of the chapter because what I want to tell ends up overtaking the rest of it all. Ah well, next chapter with the African trio should wrap up the introductions and then I can get back to what I really want to delve into – Alfie and how these changes affect him and how he interacts with the others.

Yao is probably the first person I wrote out and explored significant mythos for, way way back when I roleplayed 2p!China on tumblr. Those days are past, but I still have the notes and the concepts I've woven, which made that part of the story laughably easy to write down. Much like with Tino, I just had plenty of lovely parallels to work with, allowing the idea to weave itself around what I had learned.

What have you guys enjoyed about these so far? I know some of you like the fact that I'm using rare characters, while others just enjoy the mythos, but is there anything else?


	5. The Triad's Tale

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references, vaguely OOC characters

[Denzel = Cameroon, Rehema = Congo, Nia = Kenya, Kasoji = Uganda]

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

_Where they are today? Not even I could say. They could be walking among us, for all purposes normal humans to everyone around them. Perhaps they've returned to a quiet isolation, enjoying their time together in peace, away from the humans who had all but forgotten their names._

_Whatever the case might be, never doubt that those who had the chance to come back are good spirits - they loved us enough to watch over us in our infancy, and so were rewarded with the foreknowledge to save themselves. If you ever manage to meet with one, the least you can do is thank them._

_And, of course, keep quiet of the whole thing. Never forget, it's their secret, not ours._

~0~0~

Denzel readjusted his hold on Roho as he walked up to Rehema's house, trying to keep the energetic young cub from running off again. There was no doubt that the cub, despite his small stature, would make it back before he left for home completely fine, but he didn't feel like worrying about it at the moment.

The front door opened before he reached it, the representative of the Congo smiling and waving in greeting. "You're early!"

"I had some people coming this way, so I got a ride with them," Denzel explained, stepping inside and allowing the cub down after the door closed behind him. "Is anyone else here?"

"Kasoji and Nia arrived just after sunrise," Rehema replied, giving the lion cub who'd wandered over a scratch behind the ears before watching it disappear into a side room. "They're in the living room."

Danzel smiled at that, thanking her before following his cub through the European-styled house, a part of him still not used to how large they were even if he did live in the one provided to him by Germany. Really, what was even the need for so much space if you only used part of it regularly?

He heard the other two guests laughing and chatting before he saw them, turning the corner to see the Kenyan representative holding onto Roho while listening to her Ugandan neighbor complain about England's latest antics.

"You would think he would at least pretend to care about the issue," Kasoji sighed, shaking his head. "It does affect him as well, even if indirectly."

"He's European, you know how they all are," Nia replied sympathetically, turning to Denzel long enough to flash him a welcoming smile. "Oh, hello Denzel!"

"Hello," He returned the greeting, laughing softly as Roho perked up and started waving his tail. "It seems Roho's happy to see both of you as well."

"He clearly has good taste, then," Nia grinned, scratching the cub behind the ears and drawing a rumbling purr from him.

"I don't know," Kasoji grinned slyly. "He does like _you_, after all."

Ria gaped, managing to look both hurt and offended at once. "I can't believe you'd even say that to me!"

Denzel stepped into the conversation again, because as amusing as they could be, he did want to know how they were doing. "How have things been at your places?"

The Kenyan woman sighed, allowing Roho to squirm out of her arms and fall to the floor. "England came by; told us to move our people on the highlands out of the way so that his own could move in and use the land for farming." She made a face. "The rail line between me and Kasoji is seeing a lot of use lately because of it."

"The chiefs aren't happy," The Ugandan man grimaced. "But there's really nothing we can do; they won't listen to us."

"When have they ever?" Denzel sympathized. "I haven't seen Germany in a while; I think he was planning on some changes, but he's been busy up in Europe. From what news I've gotten there's something big brewing and he can't leave 'cause of it."

"You think there'll be a war?" Nia asked, mildly concerned. "I thought they had treaties or something to stop that."

The Cameroonian man shrugged. "It might be nothing, but there's definitely something happening up there."

"When isn't there?" Kasoji asked wryly.

Danzel and Nia laughed with him, allowing their curiosity to pass for now.

"Wait," Danzel looked around, not seeing his cub anywhere - the lack of growling or padding of paws had alerted him once he'd stopped to think about it. "Did either of you see where Roho went?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention!" Nia apologized, starting to look around as well. "Do you think he went to explore?"

"I sure hope so," The cub's owner replied, starting to head to the next room. "Can you two help me look for him?"

"Of course!"

After a fruitless fifteen minutes of searching, they met up in the main hall, all grimacing at the failure. Wherever the cub had gone, he wasn't making himself easy to find.

"Do you think he got out?" Kasoji asked.

"The front door was locked," Nia shook her head. "And the windows I saw were closed or too high for him to reach."

"What about the back door?"

All three paused, glancing between them to see who had checked that and, realizing none of them had, all quickly made their way through the house to find said door ajar, just wide enough for a small animal to squeeze through.

They didn't stop to think to alert their host before running out after it, just catching sight of the cub as it made its way across the wide expanse behind Rehema's house.

"Roho, get back here!" Denzel called out, groaning when the cub failed to respond. "This was why I was trying to keep him inside."

"Shouldn't he be alright?" Nia asked. "He is your pet, after all - he's always been rather clever."

"Maybe," The Cameroon representative replied. "But I don't want to take the risk."

"We should probably go after him now, then, before he gets too much further," Kasoji offered.

The three set out at a near-run, trying to quickly catch up, but the cub either heard them coming or was just that far ahead, because they didn't see him again until he'd already climbed up a tree, attempting to get at the three bracelets hanging from the branch he was on.

"Get down from there," Denzel sighed, grabbing the cub from the branch despite the protests and squirming. "And where did you even find those?"

"Did someone leave them here?" Nia wondered, pulling them off and examining them closely. "Wait… that's my name."

She showed them the carving on one of the beads before continuing. "And the other two have yours. I would say it's coincidence, but this is just odd."

"They look expensive, too," Kasoji added, frowning. "Not something someone would leave around deliberately."

The boys accepted their bracelets hesitantly, running their fingers over the beads before allowing them slip onto their wrists.

Then they all blinked slowly, eyes glazing over as Roho calmly cleaned one of his paws. Only after they snapped out of it did they look to each other, no words coming forth despite the questions in their eyes.

Eventually the eldest sighed, eyes closing. "Now what do we do?"

Neither of his siblings had a good answer.

~0~0~

_The Bantu have an interesting tale from long ago, about one of their women who was taken as the wife of the Thunder God._

_Her mother, purportedly, had fallen ill when her husband was away at war, leaving her with no way to make food or even start a fire from how she ached. She cried out for anyone, even the thunder god himself, to come and help her at least light the fire so she would not freeze that night - and so he came, descending from the clouds to fulfill her wish in exchange for her soon to be born daughter._

_When her husband returned to her and their newborn child, she told him what had happened, and together they planned to hide her away once she reached the age of marriage so he could not take her away. Even when she started laughing beads they stood firm, until the day they had to leave to look after their distant garden and left her alone._

_Her friends whisked her out and down to the river to play, not noticing the clouds gathering until the Thunder God came to them and demanded his wife. Though they tried their best to hide her, she was singled out and whisked away, only seen once more years after her departure, with a smile on her face and three beautiful children at her side._

_The tale ends there, but not the story. For you see, those children, having seen the wonders of the Earth for the first time since they were born, developed a keen interest in exploring the place their mother had left behind when she was taken to the heavens. Their parents would not hear of it, though, wishing to keep them safe from the dangers outside their home._

_Though it took several years, allowing the youngest to age enough to join her older brothers in the search, they finally found a way down via a magical rope. The eldest son tied the rope to a strong bit of cloud, then proceeded down first so that he could catch his siblings at the bottom if they fell. The younger brother was the second to come down, and though he slipped he did not fall, making it down without further issue. The youngest, still learning her grip and quicker to tire, made it most of the way before she let go and fell into her brother's arms._

_When they looked around they realized they were nowhere near where their grandparents or siblings lived, and set out to find them, coming across many creatures of the land along the way. The younger son, happening across an abandoned lion cub, decided to feed it and bring it with them on their journey._

_Eventually it drew dark, and with no village in sight, they took shelter under a large tree, deciding the adventure wasn't as fun as they had hoped and all agreeing to head back in the morning. The storm that blew through did not interrupt their exhausted sleep, though it left the land the next morning wet and glistening with leftover rain._

_They eventually made their way back to where they'd come down, only to find the rope they'd come down on frayed in a pile at their feet. They had no way back home, and they wept, wishing for their parents to come and get them._

_When hours passed with no one coming, they decided to set off again, hoping to find someone who could help. It took many days, and they grew ever more tired and hungry, not being used to foraging for themselves, but they eventually came to a shaman's hut, the man allowing them in so they could rest and eat. _

_When they told him their tale, the shaman replied that he could not take them back to the heavens for he was only a mortal. But, he continued, he could give them the tools they needed to survive on the Earth, so they could better wait for their father to notice them and bring them back. All he would require in exchange was the bracelets their father had given to them._

_They agreed, all three children drinking the elixir he provided, and went to sleep hoping that soon they would be reunited with their parents._

_The next morning they each woke alone, with no memories, no shelter, no jewelry, and all the knowledge the now-missing shaman had promised and then some._

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: Whelp, this didn't turn out quite what I expected, but it's done, and I suppose I should have realized that having a chapter based around a trio would invoke a lot more convo and a lot less flashbacky type stuff. Also, I have to admit that I only have vague ideas of both characterization and full extent of powers, but I really want to make them work in this AU so I'll do my best to think it over for the future.

...Also, if there IS anyone with more specialized knowledge of that region, like culture or history or whatever, mind hitting me up? I'm making the best use I can of the internet, but whelp, you know how we are about /Africa/. Ugh.


	6. The Triad's Dreams

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Kasoji dreamed of riding lightning across the sky, the world below him nothing but a green and brown and blue blur. It bucked and shook and jolted, wilder than any beast, but he none the less held on. Sometimes someone would be with him - mostly an older man, but sometimes a woman and sometimes children not much younger than himself.

In his waking moments he understood that lightning was hot, and that one obviously couldn't ride it like a wild horse, but it was still a bit thrilling to imagine none the less.

He loved thunderstorms, had since he was a young Nation being taught by his people and then by the Europeans who had come to his land to claim it for themselves. They were comforting in a way he couldn't really describe, the flashes of light followed by the rumble of thunder enough to soothe him to sleep when his body ached and his people hurt.

(Before Germany and then France had forbidden him from lingering outside while the rain was pouring for fear of catching ill, he would run outside to play in it, laughing and dancing and hopping whenever the sky lit or rumbled. It was the most fun he could recall having back then, and he often reflected on them on slow days.)

When he first met the personifications of Cameroon and Kenya, he thought them familiar for an odd moment before he dismissed the thought, figuring it just had to do with seeing their people pass through occasionally. They became fast friends, lamenting their European overlords and hoping one day they would be free of them again, though it never seemed likely.

Then, of course, they stumbled across old heirloom bracelets, and he remembered that riding a lightning bolt was a lot scarier as a child in real life than an adult in a dream.

(It did explain why he wasn't too fond of eating meat, though.)

~0~0~

Denzel dreamed of a warm fire and a mother's humming voice as she tended to a little girl's hair, the house they rested inside almost decadent but still managing to be comforting. The fire never seemed to burn out, though that could have been because of the faceless men and women who sometimes wandered through, or perhaps because of the older man who always smelt slightly of smoke.

Walking outside the house was like walking on clouds, if clouds were made of slightly softened earth anyways. Marvelous trees and an abundance of plants grew that he had never seen in his waking life, all of them delicious and filling no matter how much or little he ate, though he recalled always eating plenty. There was even a massive herd of cows that never shrank no matter how often they slew one and ate its flesh for dinner, despite how long he knew it took to raise one from infancy.

One of his favorite games there was to sneak up on the older boy or younger girl and clap his hands loudly, the sound snapping like thunder and always causing them to leap like a gazelle. The girl would usually cry after the shock had passed, leading to him being chastised by the woman whose laughter dropped beads, while the boy would tackle him to the ground and start a wrestling match.

It was like a family, something he didn't have, and even if his little cub was never in them save the rare night where he instead rested under a tree it felt right, like he was just another human instead of a Nation, a spirit of the land.

(Was it odd for a being of the earth to miss the sky so much? He saw it nearly every day, after all…)

Kenya and Uganda had been the only two people he'd ever met who had not only not freaked out about his pet lion (a cub he'd found wandering half starved and crying piteously, far from any pride he could find as a small child), but had almost instantly accepted it as normal, treating it like he heard some Europeans treat their pet cats.

(The Europeans, on meeting his pet, had had extremely fun reactions. Maybe that was part of why England didn't stop by too often?)

When they found their own bracelets, his first thought was that he was thankful that the shaman had let him reunite with Roho instead of separating them as well. He didn't want to think of what would have happened otherwise.

~0~0~

Nia dreamed of a table always filled with food, a garden that never emptied, and a slew of beasts that she loved to play with before they eventually made their way to the table to feed the small family as well. Awake, she wondered if the leftovers fed the shadowy people, and wished the leftovers could feed her and her people instead.

As they were ultimately just dreams, no matter how real they felt, she eventually let the issue go, though not without some grumbling. England, of course, did not like grumbling and would tell her to speak up, which would always end up with her lying about her thoughts or going to bed without dinner. Neither appealed to her, but she hardly had much choice unless she wanted to try her luck in the wilds.

(Surely her people who were still out there could help, right?

...no, they needed her here more, unfortunately, because the only way to get their lands back would be to learn the way of the European courts and demand their lands and lives back.

Not that it was working yet, but she would get there.)

Cameroon and Uganda were reliefs in their own ways, able to help her relax and laugh even when she was stressed, and it helped that Roho was absolutely adorable and playful. Sometimes she fondly thought of them as brothers, though as Nations they obviously were only related in the vague and entangled ways their histories and peoples were instead of biologically.

A few times, she dreamed about an old man and the woman who seemed to be his wife, walking inside a lavish house with kindling and wood under their arms. They would set it all inside the fireplace, the woman backing away as he pressed a finger to the kindling, waiting until the lightning that sparked from his fingers to the wood ignited it and started warming the house.

(She wished she could have lightning dance between her fingers - it would be so much easier to get back at the other two if she could only zap some sense into them!)

When she found their bracelets, she knew something was familiar even before she read their names off of them. She'd dreamed about them on the wrists of the children in her dreams, after all, though recalling that tidbit hadn't happened until later.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: Right, so in order to make up for the suck of the last chapter, I'm giving you all a second that actually like explains their powers and shit and give their dream sequences and whatnot. It's not much, I know, but I felt I owed this before I got into the Month From Hell today. Hopefully I'll be able to expand on them even more in the future because I really do owe the trio a lot of attention since the rest of the fandom doesn't.


	7. Wendigo

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

It was the smell that hit them first.

Alfred and Matthew, both on vacation from work for a few weeks, had decided to beat the heat of summer by heading up north to Quebec's bayside cabin. It was far enough up the Hudson Bay coast to allow snow to linger in the darker places, and far enough from people that neither of them felt concerned about intruders of any kind. Add that to them bringing enough food with them to last a month apiece, and the duo were well and set to enjoy their summer break uninterrupted.

They'd had a grand old time exploring the wilds around them, reconnecting to nature and themselves in ways they hadn't been able to for several years and taking many a picture on their hikes to pour over for nostalgia purposes later. Alfred had, as was normal, charmed a few of the woodland creatures to come out of hiding long enough to accept some treat of salt or nuts while his brother snapped pictures, Matthew later teasing him for being a veritable Snow White.

The American, in turn, had jokingly pointed out all the times his brother had lost track of what they were doing when he became distracted with Nanuq's latest adorable antics. They'd almost ended up lost twice because of it, but Matthew's nature had eventually gotten them back to the cabin with nothing worse than a few bruises and some plant matter in their hair and clothing.

Alfred had even forgotten his wistful daydreams of stretching his wings up here, far from civilization and pleasantly sunny for the duration of their stay, but as his brother didn't - and couldn't - know of his nature, it was better that he'd left his cloak back home in the hidden part of the attic, where it could still air out when he wasn't using it.

(And if he sometimes wished Matthew was like him and thus able to join him in his flights, well, the moment always passed, and he didn't begrudge the Canadian for being normal any more than the polar bear spirit who looked after him did.

...sometimes, though, he examined his brother closely and wondered if maybe, just maybe…)

By the time their last day away from civilization rolled around, they were relaxed and mentally recharged for the trudge ahead, laughing cheerfully as they made one last long loop through the woods and soaking in the atmosphere. Nanuq would run off ahead and disappear for a moment before returning, keeping pace with them for a few minutes before something else caught his attention and sent him careening into the underbrush again.

The antics had them jokingly pondering if they could teach the bear to play fetch, or whether his age made him fit too well into the saying of 'old dogs can't learn new tricks'.

"I mean he acts enough like a dog already," Alfred argued, grinning as the bear plodding back over to them, knowing this conversation would again annoy the old warrior spirit. "All you'd have to do is get a bunch of fish and reward him every time he brings your stuff back."

"He's a bear, not a dog, Al," Matthew sighed, stopping briefly to give the bear a scratch behind the ears. "Besides, he's so lazy he'd probably just wait for me to grab it instead before demanding his treats anyways."

The American laughed. "Well, there's that too, but I still think-"

He then clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, trying not to vomit as the wind changed direction and suddenly blew a heavy whiff of rot and blood into his face. Matthew followed him shortly after, eyes watering as he tried to figure out where the smell was coming from. As such, he completely missed the panicked looks exchanged between Nanuq and Alfred, both of them perfectly capable of recognizing the source.

Wendigo.

First things first, getting the innocent party back to the cabin and out of danger. "Hey Matt, can you head back to the cabin to get our emergency supplies? I'll go and find whatever's making that smell, maybe try to find an ID if…"

The Canadian looked ready to protest, but nodded after a minute, already turning around with the suddenly focused bear at his side. "C'mon Nanuq, let's get going."

After the two were far enough away, Alfred took another deep breath, noting the winds and shifted again, meaning that while the air was fresh again, he couldn't tell where the spirit of winter and eternal hunger was hiding. Swearing under his breath, he made his way slowly forward, eyes darting around as he wished he had his cloak, because without it the worst he could do would be scaring it off, which was by no means a permanent solution.

(How the hell was one even this far south? In the middle of summer? Had he been too lax lately in keeping them up in their icy wastelands to the far north, or was something else going on?)

He paused to gag as the scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils suddenly, the source only a few steps forward and inside a small clearing. He felt a wave of sympathy for the poor moose who hadn't stood a chance, stepping over and pressing his hands to it's still warm body, ignoring the strips of flesh torn from its side as he wished its spirit well.

Well, he knew where it'd been, even if it wasn't there anymore. The tracks, what few there were, told him nothing about where it'd disappeared to, or why it'd abandon its meal so readily-

Matthew. Jesus fuck why hadn't he stopped to think about that? Of course the thing would go after its preferred prey if it could, and Alfred had been stupid enough to let him go with only Nanuq for protection-

Breath heaving as he flew through the woods, lighting speeding up his reaction time and foodspeed, he readily caught up to his brother only to see him bleeding on the ground, Nanuq in his full size snarling as he fought off the wendigo. His gaze narrowed, fury pounding in his ears as his fingers started to light up, and he didn't even acknowledge Matthew's warning as he ran up and planting his fist right into the monster's face, the impact discharging a million volts of electricity at well over ten thousands amps, enough to down most creatures.

The wendigo merely reeled back in pain, shrieking as Alfred spun on the bear long enough to give it a command.

"Get Matthew back to the cabin and lock everything down, and make sure he doesn't open for anything other than me once I'm done scaring this guy off."

"Got it," The bear grunted, backing away to see to the Canadian before helping him up onto his feet.

"Alfred, don't fight that thing," His brother winced, leaning against the polar bear while holding his hand against the wound. "It's too dangerous."

"I'll be fine, Mattie, I promise," He offered a reassuring smile while keeping an eye on the beast who was just now recentering itself after the surprise impact. "Just get yourself out of here; I'm gonna make sure it can't chase after you."

"But-"

"I swear I won't let anything happen to me, alright? Just go. Trust me."

Matthew grimaced but said nothing more, allowing himself to crawl up on his bear's back before the duo was off, making a bearline for the safety of their cabin. The wendigo howled after them, it's dead gaze following them before turning back to the being who had denied it its prey. It recognized him now, even without the feathers, though that only served to make it leery of him now.

Alfred merely settled into a fighting stance, grinning sharply. "You pissed off the wrong guy, you hungry freak."

The beast snarled at him again, blood dripping from its mouth and staining its claws.

~0~0~

"Oh my god," Matthew muttered a short while after grabbing the first aid kit and wrapping up his wound, sitting down sharply on the couch and everything that had just happened finally sank in. "Oh my god."

In all his years, he'd never seen anything like the monstrosity that had attacked him from his blind spot, claws digging through his side before his bear could react and drive it away, swelling to adult size with a rapidity that shouldn't have been possible, but to be honest he had still been too dazed from the attack to really think on it.

Then his brother had run in, wild eyed and furious, and hadn't taken more than a second to take in the situation before turning on the monster, ready to get revenge for his fallen brother. Matthew had started shouting a warning, only realizing it was falling on deaf ears when his brother ran in, arms crackling with enough electricity to make his own hair stand on end and-

The oddity of the sight had struck him just as Alfred had struck it, momentarily blinding him as the discharge turned the world white. Half-blinded by the afterimage, he called out for his brother to stop fighting and just run, but Alfred had shot it down, demanding he get to safety instead, and as stunned as he was, none of his usual snarky commentary about his brother playing hero was available.

So instead he ran as told, the mile passing in a blur as he clung to soft white fur, only tumbling off when they reached the door and scrambling to get inside before closing and locking it behind him.

And now he was regretting it immensely, because holy fuck he'd just left his brother alone to fight that monster, weird hallucination of lightning or not, and for all Alfred was a superpower he was still very much human as well-

Nanuq's head plopped down into his lap, scaring him him until he recognized the bear using him as a pillow while his still-adult form lounged on the floor in front of the Canadian.

"He'll be okay," The bear told him, closing his eyes as Matthew slowly started scratching behind his ears.

"But what if he's hurt?" The Nation whispered, trying not to imagine his brother being killed by that thing. "What if he can't make it back on his own?"

"Trust him," Nanuq repeated, opening his eyes long enough to give the Canadian an understanding look. "He knows what he's doing."

"But…" Matthew bit his lip, trying to understand how his brother would have experience with those things when he'd never seen one before in his life. Surely there was no way his brother could have encountered them before without Matthew knowing?

The back porch creaked, something thumping against the door shortly after. Jumping up as soon as the bear allowed him to (and wincing as the movement reminded him of his own wounds), he made his way over to the door, waiting for the bear to nod before he unlocked it and opened it, allowing Alfred to stumble inside before stopping to lean heavily against the wall.

"That thing shouldn't be coming back anytime soon," His brother grinned weakly. "We're safe for now."

That statement probably would have been more reassuring if the American wasn't bleeding out of his several wounds, eyes starting to glass over as the blood loss from over a mile of walking in this state started to catch up to him. Heart in his throat, Matthew grabbed his brother and dragged him over to the kitchen, where the first aid supplies still rested just for this moment.

"You fucking idiot-" The Canadian choked out as he tore off the remains of the Captain America shirt, grabbing a random towel and soaking it through before cleaning out the wounds as best he could. "I thought you were going to be killed fighting that thing."

"Hey, I'm tough, I could handle it," The American winced, breath shaky.

"And what if you couldn't?" Matthew snapped, eyes damp as he glared at his brother. "What if I'd had to go out there and found your body torn to shreds by that thing?"

Alfred didn't reply for a moment, simply staring back at his brother with old, sad eyes instead.

"...I'm sorry."

"Sorry wouldn't have brought you back."

"I know."

Matthew sighed and dropped the bloody towel, wrapping his arms around his brother and crying out all his fears and panic, Alfred returning the hug after a moment even if he remained uncharacteristically silent the whole time.

(There was time enough for questions later - right now he just wanted to assure himself that everything was alright and that they were both still alive despite everything.)

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: Right, so some of you might have read the shorter version of this in my NAH collection, but this is the shiny new extended and remastered edition, which makes it a hundred times better than before. I figured it was an easier way to ease myself back into this fic, as well as getting back onto a more leisurely schedule with my writing, and I like how it turned out, so whee.

Anything else you guys wanna see? I have a few things on my list but that doesn't mean I can't consider other stuff.


	8. Aftermath

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references, vaguely OOC characters

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Naturally, the others had all agreed to a meeting shortly before the next World Meeting, because it was far easier to excuse being a bit early to the summit than to linger behind in this day and age... not to mention their privacy would be guaranteed if the others weren't there to overhear in the first place.

(Of course, being in Alfred's New York apartment helped a bit as well.)

Their bosses didn't know anything about it, of course, because the last thing they wanted was for any sort of pattern to start showing up in official documents for some other Nation or human to stumble across and question. They'd only stayed hidden for so long because the others had no idea they even needed to be looking for it, but if they grew suspicious…

Alfred bit his lower lip as his pen tapped absently against the table, waiting for the others to arrive. Since the world meeting was being held in Canada this autumn, they'd agreed to have layovers in the US and from there catch rides up to Toronto. He knew that they would all be curious as to why he'd called for it so suddenly, and more so for how vague he'd been, but even now he couldn't find the words that would adequately describe how torn he was inside.

Matthew _knew_. Not in its entirety, of course, because the truth was too fantastical for him to even begin to guess at, but he knew something was up, and that the careful facade Alfred had created of a distaste and disbelief in the supernatural was just that - a facade.

And that, unfortunately, left him in a dilemma.

Did he recruit the others to help 'ease away' memories of that day, leaving his brother in this lifetime with nothing more than the vague wisps of nightmares? Or did he come out and tell the truth, potentially damning himself to true death should it get out to the others who would not appreciate a 'fake' in their midst.

The American sighed, kicking back in his chair at the thought. Oh, if only the other Nations could understand their origins, of the world that had once been so remarkably different that few today would ever be able to comprehend it in its entirety. Even Arthur, his dear older brother (and one of those who had killed off his first peoples - not that Alfred could claim innocence in the matter at this point), gifted with the magic of the fey, would see nothing but the spirit, would completely fail to realize that the being who had been the Thunderbird and the being who was now America and Alfred were one and the same.

And to think that despite all that, survival had still been worth it. Maybe it hadn't been observation that had saved himself and his friends, but the sheer insanity of their plans and themselves. Sanity was rather relative, after all, and with all of them being somewhat less human than even their Nation brethren…

The door opened and shut quietly, Yao striding into the living room with all the grace of the serpent under his skin. He didn't speak, simply grabbing one of the sandwiches Alfred had thrown together before settling onto the couch, tearing a chunk out of it while giving a quiet nod of acknowledgement in the American's direction.

Alfred returned it, turning back to the document he'd been trying and fail to work on all morning. Stupid politicians keeping him from having a legitimate excuse to 'disappear' for a few weeks to make sure that the wendigos were staying where they should. With winter approaching, he had to keep them up north lest another string of 'disappearances' start up in Mattie's land.

The pen almost snapped in his grip at that. Under no circumstance would he allow that to happen on his watch, not with so much forewarning this time around. Even if he had to introduce a bit of 'freak weather', he'd drive those abominations back to the empty tundras of the far north, back to the pole even.

The door opened again, Tino and Feliks chatting quietly as they joined Yao on the couch, only pausing long enough to wave in greeting.

None of that addressed the main issue of Matthew knowing Alfred was hiding something from him. And, knowing his brother's curiosity, it was only a matter of time until he broke his promise of silence and either confronted the American or, even worse, went to Arthur for advice.

Under no circumstance was Alfred going to let Arthur know about his true nature. Not with the risks involved.

The door opened and closed a final time, Denzel, Nia, and Kasoji the last to join the small group of unlikely friends. Alfred, grateful for the excuse to stop fumbling with his proposal, dropped the pen to the desk and got up, joining the others around the small table.

"Everyone's flights over alright?" He asked them, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite before his stomach decided to protest the gesture by making it almost impossible to swallow.

"I had no trouble," Yao replies, not at all put off the scent by the question. "What prompted the early invitations?"

All the others, even those indulging themselves in the early lunch, focused on him at that point, and he knew he wouldn't be able to put it off. That was the good and bad thing about having friends as old and other as them - none of them put up with any sort of bullshit from anyone else. Alfred sighed in defeat, setting the sandwich down in front of him.

"Mattie knows."

None of the others reacted. Experience had long taught them to wait for the full explanation before deciding on their stance, but their human sides would get impatient before too long, so he pressed on despite the knot near his abdomen.

"Matt and I went north during our summer break to beat the heat; borrowed Quebec's old hunting shack up on the Hudson Bay. Everything had gone basically perfect until the last day, when we were on a walk and came across a fresh moose carcass with some huge chunks torn out of it."

Alfred grimaced at the memories. "Knew it was a wendigo the second I smelled it. Nanuq tried to get Matt back to the house before it caught up, but wasn't fast enough, so I had to fight it off while they made it the rest of the way. He hasn't said anything about it since we got back - I swore him to it - but I don't know how long it'll be before he decides to start looking into it…"

"You need him to forget, then?" Feliks asked, frowning. "You should have let me know sooner - older memories are always harder to get rid of."

"That's just it, though," The American rubbed at his hair, eyes cast down so he didn't have to see their immediate reactions to his next words. "I don't know if I want to."

"Alfred-" Kasoji started.

"I know why we keep our mouths shut, damn it, and I know why it's a stupid idea, but…" He grasped at the air, expression twisting on itself helplessly. "He's my brother, at least in this life, and part of me wants to be able to trust him with this."

The African siblings nodded in sympathy, and for a brief moment Alfred felt jealousy that they could be open and honest with each other because they were all in the same boat, but quickly shoved it down because they'd lost the rest of their family in the process, and he understood _that _pain far too well to begrudge them what comfort they could get.

"What if he goes to Arthur, though?" Yao tilted his head. "You know how he feels about nonhumans."

"That's why I brought you guys in as soon as I could," Alfred shrugged. "Cause this way whatever we decide, we can fix it before Mattie has a chance to chat with Arthur alone. It's not the sorta thing he'd want to chat about over the phone even if I hadn't made him promise, and I know I could get you guys in his house if I need to in order to… deal with him."

"You don't need to make it sound like an execution," Nia frowned. "He'll be perfectly fine afterwards."

"I know, I know, but-"

"You've already decided," Tino finished, drawing looks from the others but not letting his gaze leave Alfred's own. "You want to trust him, and you want us to trust you."

"I grew up with him," The American replied quietly. "Is it so bad I want to stop lying to him about all this?"

"Are you sure?" Denzel asked next. "What if he still goes to Arthur?"

"Then I knock them out myself and wipe their memories."

Yao was frowning softly now. "Are you absolutely sure you can trust him? Do you think you know him well enough to risk yourself and potentially us like this?"

"I never planned on telling him about any of you," Alfred frowned as well, not answering the first part of the question for a long minute.

Instead, this thoughts drifted back to his second childhood, when he'd just been the young colony of British America, growing up with his bestest friend and brother Mattie under the watchful, though distant eyes of Francis and Arthur. He couldn't deny that, even with all the friendships and bonds he'd had in his first life, he'd never had something quite like the bond he had with Matthew in this lifetime, and that was what ultimately decided his response once he looked back up to the others.

"I would trust him with my life."

Tino smiled then, and Alfred felt the knot loosening at the trust the oldest of them all was putting into him. "Then you'd better go prove that to him, shouldn't you?"

Count on Old Man Vainamoinen to tell him what he should have already know. As he glanced to the others, and saw their small nods of acquiesce to him in this matter, he found himself feeling just a bit lighter than he had in a long time.

It was a pretty nice feeling, all things considered.

~0~0~

"Hey Mattie, wanna stop by my place after this? I have some cool stuff to show you!"

Matthew, having not expected the out of the blue offer from his brother after two months of no contact aside from brief business talks, was understandably confused enough to reply in the affirmative before he realized Alfred wasn't avoiding him anymore, and wondered what that meant.

Ever since the confrontation with that monster, he'd had so many questions he'd wanted to ask, only to hold them back because Alfred, his brother and best friend had looked at him with those sad, pleading eyes and asked him not to. And dammit all, he knew he was always weak to that look, but he could tell that whatever had happened with the wendigo and his brother had shaken up the southern brother enough as it was without Matthew butting in.

It still hurt knowing Alfred was hiding something from him, but it seemed that he might finally be getting some answers, so for now he'd let it slide.

He'd considered, for a while, of going to Arthur about this; his promise and the vague worry that his former mentor might overreact and make things worse held him back, leaving him with nothing to do but bite his tongue and go through the motions of hosting the meeting as best he could.

The week flew by in a sluggish blur, too slow to miss the time but too fast to remember many of the details. He'd hopefully taken enough notes to give to his boss before he left with Alfred, because he'd spent an admittedly absurd amount of time glancing to his side, where his brother sat taking his own notes.

Rude bastard didn't even have the decency to be as distracted as the Canadian. Typical.

Still, it was with some trepidation that he followed the American onto a flight bound for Virginia, and from there endured the long drive out into the middle of nowhere where Alfred lived when he wasn't urgently needed for meetings somewhere. The impatient tapping of his foot had been stopped by his brother's hand on his leg, retreating as soon as the offending limb had ceased its nervous beat.

He'd never felt as much gratitude or dread as he did when the car pulled up in front of the old mansion.

"You don't have to come in if you don't want to," Alfred offered at that point, expression understanding if a bit tight. It struck him then that Alfred was just as nervous as him, merely better at hiding it up until that point, and that tipped him back from running away.

"I'll be fine, I promise."

His brother had smiled, leading the way into the house, and with no other choice Matthew followed, feeling very much like he wouldn't come out of this the same.

(He didn't think Alfred would either.)

Up the stairs they went, and down the halls, making their way to the back of the house and towards, he realized, the ladder to the attic. He hadn't thought his brother used the place - he'd always claimed it was full of ghosts, much to everyone's amusement - and it didn't take long to realize that that might have just been another part of the very careful mask his brother had woven for everyone to admire.

(He was starting to understand just how his brother could keep smiling while he'd dropped the bombs on Kiku and stared down the Soviet Union.)

The attic had been something of a letdown after all the hype built up, mostly empty from his place on the ladder even as Alfred made his way over to the darkest corner. He didn't follow this time, instead watching his brother pick something up and adjusting it so it fit under an arm, and even then it was large enough that the American had to take a minute to get it out without damaging it.

Matthew only managed to catch a glimpse of feathers under the cloth, and grew all the more confused for it, especially when their next destination was out back. The sun was still fairly high in the sky, and the clouds were sparse and wispy.

Alfred spoke, still cradling the package. "I've wanted to talk to you about this for a while, but I've always been too scared of how you'll react to actually do anything before now. I guess our vacation did me a favor in that case…"

His brother turned to him, and he could see the tension in his face, as if the man who'd punched out a monster of unending hunger and cold was afraid of _him_ of all things. It bothered him a bit more than it should have.

"I only learned about this side of myself after my Civil War, when everyone else was too busy to talk to me. We hadn't started really speaking again, Ivan had just gone home, and Arthur… well, I wasn't exactly eager to bring it up then, and definitely don't want to now, not with what he'll try to do." Alfred sighed, closing his eyes and opening them again after a minute.

"Do you trust me, Mattie?"

This was the test. This was what his brother was afraid of, more than monsters or ghosts or anything else he'd ever cried over. And what other answer could he give once he looked into his brother's eyes?

"With my life."

And Alfred had smiled at that, and let the blanket drop away, revealing a mass of feathers that turned out to be a cloak more detailed and extravagant and old than any he could ever recall being made by his Native peoples, or Alfred's for that matter.

Before he could ask how his brother had even acquired such a thing, he'd pulled off his glasses and tucked them away, then brought the cloak's head over his own.

And Matthew's world went _tilt_, because his brother **_changed._**

The bird that had replaced the American stood taller than either brother, feathers ruffling as it adjusted its stance. Its eyes looked down into his own, and in them he could still see his brother's worry and hope, and felt the first inkling of understanding even as his confusion grew.

Stepping forward, he reached out a hand, waiting for the bird's eyes to close and head to lower before he ran tentative fingers through the soft feathers, feeling the strong heartbeat underneath the skin as he brushed against it. He was still trying to wrap his mind around it, questions bouncing around too fast to ask, but he knew as he pressed himself tightly against what had been - what _was_ \- his brother, that he was at least on the path to knowing him now.

(Hopefully that would be enough.)

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: And part two of the Wendigo events + aftermath. Dunno when/if I'll do a third part to finish it out, but hopefully it clarified a few things. If not, I'll repeat them here:

No other Nations are going to be involved in this AU! I don't mind you guys having ideas for what other Nations might have been, but these seven are all I'm using cause I don't wanna overwhelm myself with characters.

Arthur is /never/ going to be informed, because the consequences for Alfred would be really, really bad. Same with basically all the other Nations and humanity in general; there's a REASON they're keeping their mouths shut, damnit, and Matthew's just an exception cause Alfred trusts him that much.

And yes, I /know/ Mattie's taking this a bit too well, he's still sorta, you know, trying to adjust to the fact that basically everything he knew about his brother is likely wrong and hasn't quite rejoined reality yet. Give him a few hours to adjust, okay?


	9. Discussion

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references, vaguely OOC characters

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

The peaceful acceptance had never really been meant to last, and Matthew knew his brother knew it. In fact, Alfred had looked almost surprised when he'd asked his first question in the middle of dinner - had he expected Matthew to start interrogating him right off the bat?

(...maybe he had, who knew at this point?)

"Why didn't you say anything?"

His brother swallowed the potatoes he'd been eating before replying. "You mean back then? When you were still pissed at my people for accusing you of being pro-South even though you took in, like, a bunch of my people escaping from there?"

The Canadian grimaced, remembering the exact period his brother was speaking of. "Still, after that things got better between us, so why not then?"

"Matt, I was still terrified and confused and trying to figure out who and what I was. It took me a long time to get used to being, well, me, and even more to decide what I was gonna do about it." Alfred's gaze lowered to the table, barely holding a wispy smile in place. "I just… wasn't sure who I could trust, and by I time I figured I could trust you, it'd been so long that I was afraid you'd be, well, pissed at me for not saying anything sooner."

Oh. Well. That was… rather obvious in hindsight, based on how Al had been acting since the incident, all but begging Matthew to offer the same trust Alfred had given to him. "I get not trusting the others, but… why not Arthur? You've got good relations with him too, and he wouldn't freak out as much about the whole… magic thing."

The American tensed, looking so pained and angry for a moment it was almost like seeing a younger, more hotheaded teen with scathing words of independence and liberty on his lips. It was a rage even Ivan had been hard pressed to draw out from the blond, and Matthew almost found himself withdrawing before recognizing it wasn't directed his way.

"Do you remember the rabbit I used to play with as a kid?" He asked, voice almost completely even and flat.

"Rabbit?" Matthew frowned, after a moment vaguely recalling the small thing his brother had always hauled around when the older Nations weren't around. He'd only spared a passing thought as to why his brother had stopped showing up with it one day, because he'd seen more than enough rabbits killed for food and fur that the idea of the thing having passed on somehow seemed rather obvious. "Did he do something to it?"

"Nana wasn't an 'it', he was my friend," Alfred snapped out, looking only somewhat apologetic after the fact. "I know, this is all new to you, but… you do realize your bear isn't normal, right?"

"I've had some details filled in," The Canadian replied slowly, trying to avoid his brother snapping again. "So…"

"Nana is- was a spirit too. Nanabozho the trickster spirit, who could always get out of trouble with a grin and a wink, who stuffed all the animals in north america into a bag to protect them, only to let them go because the people needed them. Who was a hero to his people, even if he messed up sometimes.

"When I was the thunderbird he was one of my best friends, and when I was a colony he kept me company when you and the older Nations weren't around. He taught me how to get animals to like me, how to use my strength without hurting them, how to thank them for providing food and other stuff. I'm not sure if he did it because he recognized me as a kid, or just because he saw the advantage of getting in some influence on the kid representing the intruding white people, but I was too young back then to care either way."

Alfred's eyes closed. "Then Arthur found out, and to say he wasn't happy is a huge understatement. He accused Nana of trying to corrupt me away from 'the proper paths' and all that, and then… then…"

He paused, swallowed, and continued with a deceptive calm.

"I was upset and angry and confused; all I knew was that Arthur had taken away my best friend, lecturing me on trust right after completely stomping all over mine. I still don't think he really understands just what he did to me that day - probably doesn't even think about it these days, and… well, if he finds out I'm like that too, how do I know he wouldn't try the same thing again?"

Matthew though he'd seen the worst of his brother's fears already, but this was just… "Alfred, he loves you, even if he's sort of a shitty dad sometimes; I think he'd be pissed, but he'd get it…"

"But what if he doesn't?" Alfred asked, finally looking at his brother again, face pale enough to be noticeable. "What if he thinks I'm just some sort of- evil spirit or creature that possessed or replaced the real me and tries to 'fix' me?"

"My first instinct is to say you've watched too many horror movies," The Canadian replied, shaking his head before looking back to Alfred. "But if you're really that worried, then just… don't. You've already kept it secret this long, and you only broke it to save my life, so…"

"You aren't going to tell him?" Came hesitantly, quietly. Not a proper sound to be coming from the southern Nation in the least.

Matthew shrugged with a helpless smile. "I promised already, and this is a lot to take in, and I don't think I really get it yet, but... you asked me to trust you, and you've trusted me with something that's really important to you, and, well, it'd just be wrong to spit on that, after all we've been through together."

The slow, hopeful grin that drew out of his brother was worth every last promise he'd made since that fateful day far to the north of them.

"I'm still surprised Arthur would be so hostile to someone with magic right off the bat; I mean, he has all those friends of his…"

"They aren't the same thing - even ignoring the fact that they're from two entirely different belief systems, the fey are not entirely part of our world. I'm not much of an expert on it, since they never liked me even before I realized what I was, but from what I've read and what Arthur rambles about when drunk, most of them don't really interact with people or the world in general unless they want something.

"The Native spirits, on the other hand, were far more invested in the world and the people who lived there, even living among humans without anyone the wiser. And who knows, maybe Arthur's friends and their kin did too, I don't know, all I can be sure of is that back then, he just plain didn't trust anything he didn't know everything about."

And he couldn't be sure whether Arthur had changed, was left unsaid. Matthew was starting to see just why his brother had lived his life behind a mask - all of his experiences had taught him that he was unwelcome as he was, and by the time he wasn't, it was a moot point.

That made the trust being put into him now all the more important, and even if part of him still wished his brother had had more faith in him, he would still do his best to live up to that trust, just as he knew Alfred would have done for him.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: I cannot even begin to apologize for how short and crappy this is, but I couldn't think of anything else and I'm really trying to get back into writing Hetalia (I've sort of been dabbling in some other fandoms and original stuff whoops). This wraps up the wendigo arc and also explains my reasoning on NOT going to Arthur or Europe in general, and I have support in the fact that the scene Alfred described happened during the worst of the witch trials in England.

I'm not excusing Arthur's actions, but he thought at the time he was protecting his younger brother both from 'corruption' by the natives and from anyone catching him practicing magic. And yes, he was of the mindset that Native magics were 'inferior' to his own at the time, though that has... somewhat mellowed in modern times? I guess? Alfred isn't taking a chance though, and that should be respected.


	10. Firebird the Trickster

Thunderbird (Hetalia)

Author: Ashynarr

Summary: There was a time where spirits ruled the world, but they all eventually died away as the faith in them faded. A few of the cleverer ones, however, managed to find their own ways around the issue...

Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

Warning: Lots of mythological references, vaguely OOC characters

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

_One of the many truths of the firebird is that, provided a steady hand and a quick mind, any man can capture it. An arrow the heart, while fatal to most other creatures, will only leave the firebird itself comatose until the dawn's light shines upon it, giving a hunter time to cage it so it cannot flee. Indeed, many tales have been told of the glory young men have earned by capturing the legendary bird and presenting it to their lord, in exchange for enough wealth to afford a farm for themselves or their family._

_Another truth of the firebird, however, is that it will always, without fail, escape its imprisonment. _

_Many times, it is set free by a child or peasant who sympathizes for its fate. Other times, a noble will cast it out after hearing its sorrowful song, unable to handle the guilt of trapping such a noble creature. _

_And sometimes, just sometimes, it manages to escape on its own._

~0~0~0~0~0~

_Once, there were three brothers, all of whom dreamed of a life of wealth beyond their humble farm. Every day, they would leave their house and work from dawn to dusk, and every night, they would go to sleep, confident in the thought that each of them was the most deserving to leave and seek their fortunes elsewhere._

_It was at this farm that the firebird arrived, tired after a long day of travel. It ate well of the wild berries that grew in the woods, made a comfortable nest of leaves and lichen, and fell into slumber in the boughs of an old oak tree. _

_That morn, well before the sun had roused itself, the three brothers made their way through the same woods in search of meat to eat and sell. Though they searched for a long while, none of them could find anything, not even a rabbit, and they were close to giving up before they spied the roost in the trees. _

_With keen eye and steady hand, the oldest hefted a rock, taking but a moment before letting loose and watching as it hit its mark, sending nest and bird tumbling in a mass to the ground. The middle brother, quick as a snake, wrap hands around the squawking bird's neck before it could untangle itself and fly away, wringing it until an audible crack was heard, falling limp instantly. The youngest, ever prepared, pulled out the bag for small game from his belt and shoved the bird into it, tying a knot around the top so it would not fall out on the way back. _

_It did not take long for the sun to rise after that, and when the bag started squirming and squawking, the three quickly realized what prize they'd caught and rushed home, eager to see what wealth they could extract from the firebird. _

_However, deciding what to do with it first proved to be far more difficult than capturing it had been, for each claimed that he was most deserving of the bird's powers-_

~0~0~

"I control the most territory, so I should have control of him too, da?" Ivan pointed out to the other two Nations, having divested himself of his scarf and coat only due to the warmth of the meeting room.

"He's got more of my people, though, so I have first claim!" Gilbert snapped back, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than with the two men in the room.

"As I am older, and am the host of this meeting, I feel as if it is only fair I get first claim," Roderich replied to them both, ignoring the sour looks from both of them in favor of continuing. "Not to mention both of you gained other servants out of this, while I have yet to receive anything more beneficial than a few acres of land."

Of course, he was lying through his teeth, having gotten more than a fourth of the former commonwealth's land over the past few years, and he'd gotten several servants of a suitable nature in that time, but as technically those had been unrelated to the agreement to take out the Commonwealth, both of them realized he had more clout in the debate. In other cases, they might have ascended easily, happy with what they'd already gotten, but all three currently held the same desire-

To break the Polish Nation under their heel.

The prize in question, wrists and neck bound by a short chain to the wall, was forced to watch wordlessly as they debated his fate like he wasn't there, but all remained keenly aware of his unwavering calm despite what he knew would happen once the final decision was made. It was unnatural how he hadn't reacted to any of the taunts his captors had thrown his way, even as they'd dragged him from his former home. It wasn't even the antipathy of someone who'd fallen quickly from the seat of power in Europe - it genuinely seemed like the guy considered the events of the past few years a minor inconvenience rather than the political upheaval and dissolution it was!

Though the debate would last into the late hours, they eventually came to an agreement that would satisfy them all-

~0~0~

_The oldest brother, by benefit of seniority and having knocked the firebird from its roost, would claim it for the first week. After that, control would pass to the second brother, who had been the one to kill it. The youngest, though annoyed at being last, was glad to have time to consider what he wanted from the bird._

_The following morning, the younger two siblings went into the field to work, while the oldest pulled the worn sheet off the firebird's cage and thought of how to make it cry. It was said, after all, that the firebird's tears would turn into pearls, and nothing less would attract the heart and hand of the carpenter's daughter._

_Though he begged and pleaded and demanded, it remained unmoved, head held high with dignity despite its entrapment. Eventually he could take no more, and yelled at it-_

~0~0~

"If you refuse to do what I say, then you can starve until your sense returns to you!"

Roderich stormed out of the room he'd graciously provided to Poland, containing such luxuries as a bed, a drawer to store his small selection of clothing and personal effects, and a few books (in German, of course) for him to educate himself on. Naturally, such kindness had been snubbed, the Polish man seeming to feel he had no need to learn or speak the language of his new co-owners and putting no effort into his simple chores.

Perhaps his boss had the right mindset after all - you had to beat the rebelliousness out of children and foreigners before you could educate them, and the Polish folk were some of the most stubborn people he'd had to deal with yet. It seemed whenever one rebellion was put down, another rose up in its place, and not even warnings of what had happened to other towns seemed to make them reconsider.

Unlike humans, Nations couldn't really die from starvation, which meant that if Poland attempted to outlast him, he'd only extend his own suffering, as well as that of his people within the Austrian sphere of influence. It had worked well enough with Hungary, as seen by her acceptance of her place after suffering similarly under Ottoman rule.

Actually, why didn't he have her teach his new servant the benefits of his rule? Perhaps he needed to see for himself that accepting his place would make his life much easier than this ongoing resistance. And so he called Hungary to his rooms, and told her-

~0~0~

"_You will only feed it after it sheds a tear, and only small amounts. It must learn that we are to be obeyed, and that submission will be better for it than stubborn resistance."_

_His two younger brothers were not pleased to have to do their brother's work for him, but agreed to do as he said, for he could easily make their lives just as difficult if they did not obey. And so that evening, each took turns demanding the bird shed a tear, only to meet equal resistance. The brothers made certain to eat their fill merrily in front of it, ignoring its gaze upon them as they cleared their plates, and went to bed certain they had shown it the error of its ways._

_The next morning, they found the bird still filled with the energy to resist them, and so they left to the fields without even attempting to draw tears from its eyes. By that evening, they had mostly forgotten about the bird, though the oldest brother's mood only darkened upon seeing it ignore their supper despite missing its own. _

_By the third day, the bird's plumage had started to fade, a sure sign of hunger, but still it remained unmoved, and the youngest brother reluctantly suggested that it would more than likely die before it gave in to their demands. In a burst of anger the oldest brother turned to him and yelled-_

~0~0~

"He's an absolute fool! No matter what i do, he simply refuses to bend to his fate!"

Roderich paced the meeting room without rest, one hand waving about in the air as if it could vent all of his frustrations for him. Ivan and Gilbert both seemed more amused than anything, which only added more to his ire.

"His memories of independence are still too fresh; of course he's going to resist more." Gilbert tossed back his latest glass of wine, ignoring the sour look from the other Nation as he reaffixed his gaze. "And putting him with Erzsebet probably didn't help - I could've told you she'd start pushing for more control of her own affairs once she had her feet under her again."

"I don't see you offering to help deal with the matter," Roderich snapped at him.

"I'm not offering to help her, what more do you want?" Gilbert replied pointedly. "Besides, I'm busy with Ludwig - if you can't handle him, maybe you should pass him on. I know Ivan's been clamoring for his new toy, haven't you, big guy?"

The Russian man smiled widely, sending a shiver down both their spines. "I have been looking very much forward to the chance to speak with him. My sisters will be happy with the gift."

"Fine then, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Within the week, Poland was among the retinue heading back north, his flimsy clothing ill suited for the increasing chill, not that anyone dared to mention it to the pleased Empire. It was a bit annoying that he was not stumbling from numbness by the time they reached his rooms, but throwing him in with the other special servants was enough to make up for it for now.

Roderich had been too soft, in his opinion - he'd allowed the man his own space, his own tongue, and his own books.

Ivan hummed merrily under his breath. Poland would quickly learn to do without such things, or else go through the same 'correction' process his other lovely servants had. First, of course, would be-

~0~0~

_-encouraging it to sing, for its song was said to lift the spirits of any who heard it. Many wealthy men would pay well to hear it, and it ran no risk of running out, unlike its hard to obtain tears. The middle brother, confident in his plans, worked hard in the fields, and returned to the house first, immediately grabbed the remains of their bread, offering it to the bird in exchange for a simple song._

_The bird, however, ignored his offering the entire evening, even after he set it on top of the cage so he could leave to eat. When it remained untouched for the rest of the night, the three all but forgot about it, going to bed while each wondering what it would take to draw it from its silence. However, they'd barely fallen asleep when its song started, softly at first, but quickly gaining enough strength to wake even the heaviest of sleepers._

_Though pleased to have finally won it over, they quickly grew despaired that it would not quiet down no matter what they did - covering the cage barely muffled it, and threats did not phase it. Another piece of bread got it to finally quiet, and the three brothers returned to their rest at last. Though the next morning found them exhausted, their spirits had been raised by their partial success, and they went through the day with all the energy they could muster, scrambling to be the ones to give the bird its scrap of bread._

_However, it again ignored the treat, gaze sharp from its containment, and eventually exhaustion caught up with them and called them to bed. Again, the bird's voice filled the night as soon as they'd all but started dreaming-_

~0~0~

"Stop singing!" Ivan snapped, icy gaze spinning on the working servants. Those who had been silent leapt in their skin, huddling together in a feeble attempt to protect themselves from his attention, but his eyes were only on one man in particular.

Poland, however, seemed to be completely remorseless, leaning against his broom as he asked, "I was instructed to practice my Russian in my free time, and I've nothing else to do while cleaning."

"Cleaning," The Empire bit out, "Is meant to be done quickly, quietly, and without drawing attention to oneself."

Poland merely tilted his head in acknowledgement, drawing another stab of ire from the provocation. Ivan strode forward, hand clenching the smaller man's neck in hopes of drawing out some fear, but even with his worthless life in the Empire's hand, his gaze was firm and his arms steady.

Disgusted (and perhaps a bit unnerved), he threw the Nation to the side, not even waiting for him to pick himself up before turning and marching away, dark clouds over him as he returned to his original task of the afternoon. He hated how Roderich's words echoed every time he left the Pole's presence, he hated how the man refused to break, he hated how his empire was starting to become a joke to the others because he hated them and their liberal ways, and he hated how this winter was crawling in his veins already, a sign of poor weather ahead.

He also hated how nice the man's voice had sounded, soft enough to be spoken over yet commanding attention from all the others, and singing one of the servant's working songs at that. He'd certainly learned Russian, as Ivan had promised he would, but he had the feeling Poland had considered it more a convenience than a necessity.

Perhaps he should tear out his throat? If it healed wrong, he might even manage-

~0~0~

_-to make it stay quiet the entire night. With so little rest over the past few days, they were struggling more and more to get their chores done, and eventually they met to discuss the problem._

"_It knows what it's doing," The youngest told them. "We've been keeping it caged for more than a week, so now it's keeping us caged with its song."_

"_If you'd just let us kill it, we wouldn't have this problem," The middle brother grumbled. "It will recover, and meanwhile we all get sleep."_

"_I'm almost tempted to just get rid of it," The oldest sighed. "We've wasted good bread on it for nothing."_

"_I have an idea," The youngest told them both, and despite their doubts, they leaned close. "What if we treat it kindly? We give it bread and berries from the woods, without asking for anything for a few days, and then ask for the gifts once it's well again."_

_The older two brothers looked from the faded, stubborn bird to their brother, and then to each other._

"_You have one week, and then it's gone," The oldest told him._

"_So better get to it fast," Added the middle brother._

_And so the youngest brother went out to the woods, and gathered as many of the wild berries as he could find, and brought them back for the bird. He did not speak to it, simply placed the food inside and left for the fields. By that evening, the berries were gone, and the bird looked brighter, so the youngest left it some bread and went to sleep with this brothers._

_That night, they rested soundly, and awoke with new appreciation for their youngest sibling's cunning. This time the middle brother gathered the berries, bringing them back and putting them in the cage, and was rewarded with a short song that lifted his mood and his exhaustion. He worked twice as hard, and told the others of his good fortune over dinner, eager to train the bird to sing on command._

_Again, they rested well, so the oldest brother went into the woods first thing that morning, bringing back the wild berries for the bird in exchange for a single pearly tear. Quick to grab it and tuck it away from his brother's eyes, he rushed into the field, working harder than ever as he imagined all the jewels he would soon be able to present to his beloved._

_By the time it was the youngest brother's turn again, he was so gleeful of his success that he declared-_

~0~0~

"I told you I could get him to open up," Gilbert declared smugly, almost ready to preen at their mutual annoyance at his success. "His people are even settling down."

"We noticed," Roderich replied, quietly glad for one less thing to divide his attention. Since all the recent upheavals and revolutions had swept across Europe like some demented plague, he'd been scrambling to keep his power base secure while also reigning in all his rebellious territories. Hungary was by far the worst headache, and from the way things were going he might actually have to give her some power in order to get her to settle down and stop riling the others up.

Ivan's frown continued to relay his own feelings on the changes of the rest of Europe. "I remain, how do you say, skeptical of your claims."

Gilbert snorted. "You don't make people like you by beating them into the ground; I gave him a few of his books, let him eat and wander so long as he doesn't leave the palace, and he's already all but scrambling to do what I ask."

Roderich raised a single brow. "Sounds too good to be true."

"Says you. I've got him training Ludwig in field medicine right now, keeps them both out of the way and out of trouble while I'm busy trying to convince people that we don't need some super state just to keep things under control."

"We all know it'll pass, don't get too worked up over it," Roderich replied, waving his frenemy off. "Returning to the original topic, would it be possible to confirm your story for ourselves?"

Gilbert grinned widely. "I thought you'd never ask. In fact, why don't we-"

~0~0~

"_-take it to town tomorrow?" The middle brother asked, relaxed from the week of success they'd had so far. _

"_And what if someone tries to take it?" The oldest brother asked with a frown. "Everyone will want it for themselves once they know we have it, and we can hardly watch our backs all the time in fear of thieves."_

"_We only have a few feathers and tears," The youngest pointed out. "Not enough to keep ourselves comfortable for long."_

_The middle brother smiled. "That's just the point - we could wait until winter to have enough to make ourselves comfortable, all the while risking someone finding out and telling the others, or we tell everyone, show it off to prove it's real, then sell it to the wealthiest man in town."_

_The other two looked to each other, expressions lightning at the idea of being able to make such easy money. _

"_I'll be able to marry!" Crowed the oldest._

"_And we'll never fear for our health," The youngest added._

"_Or our standing in town," The middle finished with a smile._

_All three agreed to head into town the next day, as it was a rest day, and thus more people would be around to see their greatest triumph. They rested, comfortable in dreams of their soon to be earned wealth, and the following morning they loaded the cage into their wagon and headed into town. The people there were surprised at the secretiveness around their wagon, and the news spread fast enough that by the time they'd set up their presentation, most of the town was there._

_When they revealed the firebird, head held proud behind its cage, many were surprised, and wanted proof of its reality._

_The oldest brother, with a bow to the woman he sought, opened the cage long enough to give it a berry, which the bird accepted in exchange for a tear, which fell out the bottom and was caught before being presented to her. Many looked over the pearl in appreciation, though others worried it was a trick, and demanded more proof._

_The middle brother, with a bow to the rest of the townsfolk, opened the cage again in order to present several more berries in exchange for a song. Few doubters remained in the crowd after the feelings its song put into their hearts, but those that did were wealthy enough that none of the brothers wanted to let them down._

_Thus, the youngest brother opened the door and deposited yet more berries in exchange for a single glowing feather, presented to the oldest of the guildmasters. However, in his haste to offer the gift, he'd failed to latch the door entirely, and all eyes were on the man's loud commentary at the easing of his aches._

~0~0~

Gilbert's eyes opened reluctantly, sunlight burning into his eyes and causing him to wince. He and the other two had had a lot to drink with their dinner, but at the time there'd been a lot to celebrate.

Ludwig and shown off all the things he'd learned from his tutors so far, and had completed his sets admirably for his young age. Unlike HRE, he was growing strong and healthy, with none of the fractured ideologies and tentative alliances tearing him apart inside, and the evidence of a unified Germany was growing strong enough that he was considering instead maneuvering himself to be the member state in charge overall, even if his little brother would technically be the one leading them when he came of age.

Poland had, as promised, been nothing but servile, bringing them food and drink as demanded without a fuss. Ivan and Roderich had both been obvious jealous, thought they hid it well behind their wine glasses, and he'd had to keep himself from cackling gleefully. Sometime in the evening, when they'd gotten through quite a bit of the bottles brought out just for the occasion, he'd called on the man to sing a few small things, having found out what Ivan had about his voice.

And oh, what a prize! The man's voice was soft, carrying around the room and quieting all conversations as he'd gotten into it. It'd been like listening to the ocean, a lulling rhythm that made one lose track of time…

His eyes snapped open again, having searched out for the feeling of his servant only to find it missing entirely. There was no way he could hide himself that well on his own territory, and the borders were too far to have fled to without the benefit of Walking, but obviously one of those was wrong because he was shouting for his also-sleeping guards even as he rolled out of his seat, screaming for the horses to be prepared for him and that the man who found Poland would be rewarded well.

It was humiliating to have to give up after several weeks, no trace of the man or his passing found either within the palace walls or in the nearby towns. He knew that the guy had been good at living wild as a kid, but this was frankly ridiculous, especially since he'd managed to avoid his senses entirely.

The news only soured when one of his men, stationed in the northern ports, had admitted to seeing someone of that description board one of the boats to the west, out of reach thanks to America and his stupid immigration policies. It was-

~0~0~

_-a slap to the face, for even as the bird vanished into the sun, the tears it left them melted back to water, and the feathers burned themselves out before the ashes blew away in the dust._

_The brothers marched home with heads hung, realizing their greed had been their undoing, and that they'd been tricked by the firebird into freeing it. Their reputation was never salvaged in the town, and to their last days they quietly worked their farm, hearts heavy with humility, and the reminded that the firebird, like the sun, could not be kept from the skies forever._

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

AN: Right, so it's been a LONG while since I've worked on this, and I apologize, but I've been trying to grind out a lot of other things, so it might be a bit before another update. Still, I'm pretty happy with how this turned out, and how the melding of the fable and the historical events weaves together.

I'm going to try to give everyone some stuff to do on their own, and then stuff together as well, so be patient! I'm still a fan of this AU even if the absurdly long chapters sometimes make me wanna cry. But hey, I've gonna have something that pushes me beyond my comfort zone, right?


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